


Falling

by make_this_feel_like_home



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Break Up, Cheating, Happy Ending, Harry sells art, I am a bad tagger, Louis has a daughter, M/M, Niall gets married, and his PhD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 38,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/make_this_feel_like_home/pseuds/make_this_feel_like_home
Summary: Harry had the entire world in his hands and one stupid decision shatters the whole universe. Losing Louis had been the hardest thing he'd been through, and still 14 years later, the echos of pain are present in his chest.Harry had moved on. He'd forgiven his mistakes and he'd made a life in the wreckage.But when he hears Louis' voice come from behind him at Niall's wedding, he realizes he was not prepared to face the person he hurt most in the world.And, that he might still be very much in love with Louis.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 60
Kudos: 313





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> This was intended to be a one shot, but in light of that fact that the world is falling apart with Covid-19, I wanted to post something to give everyone something to do while social distancing! 
> 
> I'm working on finishing up my semester, so the second part won't be posted until I've finished all of my papers and assignments, but please feel free to leave my feedback and suggestions for what you think should happen in the second half! 
> 
> And most importantly, stay safe! Do your part and stay home! Come chat with me on Instagram if you're bored, because my uni is closed and I got laid off from my job (darn those Covid lay offs) @feels.like.home01
> 
> xx

**Falling**

_That first night at felt like the sky was falling._

_It had felt like the sun couldn’t possibly rise again._

_It had felt like there was no way anything could ever matter again._

_But then much to his surprise, the days started to come._

_They started to come easier and easier each time._

_The sun kept coming up, and as far as he could tell, the world continued to turn._

_Day by day._

__

_Week by week._

__

_Somehow it felt less and less like he was bleeding out._

_Month by month._

_Year by year._

__

_He started to accept what he’d done._

_He started to flirt with the idea that maybe some day he could forgive himself._

_Maybe some day he could accept that he deserved to be happy again._

_And in his emptiness,_

_In the hollow place inside of his chest_

_For which he had no one but himself to blame,_

_Harry found out just what kind of person he really was._

_He’d faced his demons in the mirror, day after day._

_He’d dealt with the skeletons in his closet,_

_And he’d somehow learned that despite the steps that had lead him there,_

_He was a good person._

_He was a good friend._

_He was a good son._

_He was a good brother._

_And those things counted._

_Even though he’d done one thing that he thought he could never forgive himself for:_

_He was okay._

_And just like that, 14 years had passed._

_He no longer felt like he was stumbling through life,_

_He no longer felt like he was falling through the cracks._

_He no longer felt like he was falling at all anymore._

_He welcomed the numbness._

_He welcomed the forgiveness._

_And he welcomed the distance he’d put between him and the person he was._

_(And the person he'd loved. )_

_Yeah, Harry had done the unspeakable._

_But he had survived it._

_He had risen up to become the person he ought to have been all along._

_And it no longer felt like he was falling._

_It felt like he was standing._

_And that was the biggest of all of his tiny victories._

_Part I : What if I'm someone you won't talk about?_

. . .

Harry adjusted his tie for the 18th time as he stared at himself in mirror and sighed in annoyance. For someone who claimed to not care about what she looked like, Gemma was taking for-fucking-ever to get ready. She’d been doing her hair for an hour and half and Harry was sick of waiting. He was itching to leave, and she’d promised to be ready by the time he came round to pick her up. Maybe he was an idiot for believing her, because fool me once and all that.

“Gem, for the love of all that’s holy please hurry up. I’m melting.” He urged through the bathroom door. Gemma’s flat didn’t have air con and Harry really was dying in his suit.

The bathroom door swung open then and Gemma glared at him while holding her hair in a curling iron, “you’re the bossiest date I’ve ever had,” she huffed.

“And you’re the latest date I’ve ever had,” said Harry, sticking out his tongue.

Gemma laughed then, letting her hair out of the iron, “you know what I was thinking?”

“That we ought to call an uber so we don’t miss the ceremony?”

She grumbled as she began to spritz hairspray all around her. Harry stifled the need to choke on the impure air. Honestly. One of his best friends was getting married and he was about to miss the entire wedding because he didn’t have a proper date and had opted to invite his sister. Honestly, no good deed went unpunished.

“He’s going to be there tonight, you know?”

“That’s awfully vague,” Harry said as flippantly as he could manage, despite the way his stomach twisted in a familiar way. A way it hadn’t ached in years.

“Louis,” she said his name like it was just another name. Like he was just another person among a sea of people they were about to see.

And, well, it had been 14 years. He _was_ just a person. A person that Harry didn’t know, not anymore. Harry didn’t know a single thing about his life. Niall had told him stuff here and there, but he didn’t ask. He’d always made an important point of not asking because the only thing more pathetic than mourning a relationship for a decade and a half was berating their mutual friends to spill details. He knew Louis had gotten married. He knew he had never left London, but that was it. That was all he’d really wanted to know.

Well, and he knew that Louis was on LinkedIn and was listed as a professor of Developmental Psychology at Middlesex University. And that he didn’t have Facebook…and that his instagram was private.

But aside from a few scotch induced late night google searches that mostly came up empty, Harry actually didn’t know much.

That was fine though. That was normal, even. Given the way things had ended between them, Harry couldn’t have expected much more. He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat because he really didn’t want Gemma to know that she’d struck a nerve. It was stupid that the nerve even still existed.

God. Being in the same room as Louis Tomlinson? How _hadn’t_ he panicked about this yet?

Gemma studied his face for moment but didn’t say a word. She ran her fingers through her curls before turning back to Harry.

“Ready?” She asked, undoubtedly sensing that Harry was no longer ready for Niall’s wedding.

He swallowed before panting on a smile and flicking open the uber app on his phone, “I’ve been ready for hours,” he said feigning annoyance. Gemma probably saw through it, but he didn’t care.

. . .

Harry got up from the table he was seated at with Gemma and Niall’s single cousins.

“Need a refill?” He asked Gemma, pointing to her drink.

She nodded and handed him her glass, “Pinot Grigio, please.”

He nodded and began walking toward the bar.

The night had been pretty fantastic so far. Niall and Sarah’s ceremony had gone off without a hitch. Sarah had been stunning and Niall had made the entire church laugh with his vows, which was really to be expected. The dinner had been delicious and Niall’s pack of Irish cousins had Gemma and Harry laughing for most of the night. Desert plates had just left the table and Niall and Sarah had completed their first dance. The music had changed to up beat club music and the older relatives had already begun filing out. It was only half nine and if the atmosphere of the table Harry was sat at was any indicator, the night had barely even begun.

Harry had just put in his drink order when he heard a a voice that sent a cold shiver down his spine.

“Harry Styles.”

The unmistakably Yorkshire accent hit Harry in waves. First and foremost was a wave of fear. Second a wave of shame in remembering why he didn’t get to hear that voice anymore. Lastly was excitement, because that voice had sought him out. He could have easily dodged him all night, but now he was standing just behind Harry’s right shoulder, actively seeking him out.

Harry dared to look away from the bartender that was refilling Gemma’s wine glass. He turned around and there he was. 14 years after he’d left Harry standing alone in the doorway of the flat they’d shared, there was Louis. He looked…different—but somehow the same? His eyes where the same enchanting shade of blue that Harry could remember getting lost in, but there were a few more lines than he remembered at their corners. His smile was small, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was tight with politeness or if he was pressing his lips together like he used to when he would take the piss. His hair was clipped sort at the sides, decidedly different than it had been all those years before. The light hairs that blended in with the brown were new, too, grey hairs that were the only reminder of just how many years had passed since Louis had stood this close to him.

Harry’s heart hammered in his chest. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He’d done so much damage to Louis that he didn’t feel like he deserved to say much of anything. His cheeks flamed and he could feel the back his neck breaking out in a light sweat. The guilt in his chest was a feeling that he was less accustomed to these days. He’d always carried it with him, but it hadn’t been this present in years. He should probably say something instead of just starting at Louis like a mute lunatic, but he couldn’t think of anything.

“Hi,” said Louis, his smile faltering a bit, betraying a hint of what Harry interpreted as humour. (That couldn’t be right though, could it? After all this time Louis couldn’t possibly be approaching him in a light hearted way—that just wouldn’t make sense.)

Harry cleared his throat aggressively, more self conscious than he could remember being in a long time. The word almost got lost in his throat as he forced it out (speaking should not be that uncomfortable).

“Hi.”

Louis’ smile betrayed him then, because it took over his whole face, igniting that magnetic infectious sunshine-y thing that he’d always had. Harry felt his cheeks flame a deeper red and he felt like he might be sick all over his shoes. His heart started hammering and he was definitely breaking a sweat now.

“You didn’t want to talk to me,” Louis accused. Despite his words, his smile was playful, “you were hoping to dodge me all night, weren’t you?”

“Um,” Harry really didn’t know how to navigate this situation. He was highly, highly conscious that he was lucky that Louis had chosen to speak to him at all. It was more than he deserved, far, far more. Everything he wanted to say felt wrong, “I just—I didn’t expect that you would want to talk to me.”

Honesty. That was a good place to start. Honesty was the thing that had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Harry felt like he owed it to Louis to be honest, no matter how stupid it made him feel.

Louis shrugged. He just fucking _shrugged_ like he wasn’t speaking to the actual scum of the earth. Harry was floored. He felt his heartbeat in his throat as Louis brushed passed him to hand a card to the bar tender and order himself a drink. He turned back to Harry with two drinks in his hand that Harry immediately recognized as his scotch and Gemma’s wine.

 _Jesus Christ._ He was standing here next to Louis Tomlinson who had just paid for his and Gemma’s drinks. Was he dreaming?

“Its been a long time,” Louis noted, waiting as the bartender poured his pint of beer, “I figured maybe we owe it to each other to talk?”

Harry beamed then, it was involuntary and he immediately tried to wipe it from his face. He pressed his lips together and cleared his throat. _Honesty._

“I’d really like that.”

Now that the words were out there in the universe, fear dripped into Harry’s gut. Was that too honest? Harry lifted his scotch to take a deep sip. He was scared shitless. He needed more alcohol before things got more awkward.

Louis was holding his beer now and he shot Harry a look as he sipped his scotch. Harry felt warm under his gaze and he didn’t know if he wanted to evaporate or go down in flames. Louis made a sound under his breath before speaking.

“I remember when all you would drink was vodka coolers,” he laughed a bit to himself like the memory wasn’t tainted by the one night when Harry had drank way too many vodka coolers and made a mistake he’d been drowning in for a decade and a half, “you’re such a grownup now.”

Louis took a long pull from his beer before he gestured to the wine glass in Harry’s other hand, “who’s that for?”

Harry was trying not to dwell on the small things, but the question felt decidedly less lighthearted than the rest of their conversation had been.

“For my hot date, of course,” and holy shit, Harry was joking! He was joking with _Louis Tomlinson_ after 14 years of punishing himself, “Gemma.”

That sunshine-like smile found its way back to Louis’ face, “you brought Gemma as your date?”

Harry nodded.

“Ask me who my date is,” Louis said, tone light.

Oh, god. Harry didn’t want to do _this._ Louis had gotten married. Harry knew this. Was this the moment where Louis laughed and joked with him like an old friend and then gushed about his marriage? Was Harry really about to be subjected to that? He didn’t know if he would ever _be_ there. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to talk to Louis about that stuff. It still felt wrong somehow to agree to be a part of a world where he and Louis were able to talk about this stuff.

Louis seemed to sense his apprehension. Was Harry really that transparent, or was it just Louis?

“It’s Lottie,” he said, shrugging and taking another sip of his drink. “Why don’t you drop that off to Gemma and meet me outside?” Louis’ eyes spelled mischief and Harry had missed that part of him. Louis was fun and always up for breaking the rules (and apparently that extended to being totally casual about talking to the person who had hurt him most in the world and opting to treat Harry like a human being and not a pariah). Louis reached into his suit jacket and flashed Harry a tiny little joint.

Harry wasn’t sure what universe this was, but he was kind of okay with it. He was kind of okay with the idea of smoking pot with Louis and talking about the scars they’d left on each other. He didn’t know if it was the scotch that made that feel possible, or if it was the electricity behind Louis’ smile but he nodded eagerly and dashed over to Gemma to drop off her drink.

_. . ._

The sun had set and the air outside was cool. Harry welcomed the change in temperature because he’d broken a sweat again when he tried to explain to Gemma why he was leaving her alone at the table. It was a difficult thing to iterate, the fact that he was meeting his ex outside to smoke pot and talk about who knew what. It was hard for him to even explain that he’d somehow survived speaking to Louis, let alone that he was willingly throwing himself into it again. The world didn’t make much sense that night.

The moment he opened the door to the front steps he heard Niall’s bellowing laugh.

“Ah, fuck Tommo!” Harry’s skin prickled at the nickname that Niall had always used when he spoke to Louis. It had been so many years since they’d all been in the same place that Harry had forgotten just how hard Niall could laugh at Louis’ jokes.

Harry’s eyes immediately fell onto Sarah, her white gown a stunning contrast to the dark night, smoking the joint and listening to Louis and Niall as they recounted the story of the first time they’d ever gone camping together.

“This fuckin' guy,” Niall said, pointing at Louis, “he sat there drinking beer while Harry and I pitched two tents. Didn’t even bother to offer lifting one of his pretty little fingers, then insisted he knew how to start a fire ‘the Tommo way’ and lit up an entire bloody tree trunk. Thought it was going to burn down the fucking forest.”

Sarah was laughing just as Louis caught Harry’s eye. Niall’s gaze followed Louis and he seemed to freeze mid-thought, and for good reason. He probably had expected them to avoid each other all night. He’d probably felt guilty not just choosing one of them to come that night. Harry walking into their walk down memory lane was probably the last thing he’d expected.

“Harry,” Louis said, waving him over. God. He was just so casual about the whole fucking thing. It didn’t make sense, but Harry was grateful. At least one of them should have a clue about what they were doing, and it certainly wasn’t him.

Harry smiled in response and walked over, filling the space between Louis and Sarah. Niall clearly didn’t know what to say. That was okay, because Louis had it figured out. Sarah handed Harry the joint and it was a strange thing, standing there with their friend Niall and his bride. Harry had once been so sure that he and Louis would have had a wedding of their own. It was a funny thing the turns life took. It took Niall getting married to get Louis and Harry in the same room again, and somehow it felt like 30 years had passed at the same time as it felt like no time had passed. Harry took a hit of the joint and watched as Louis’ eyes turned animated as he addressed Sarah.

“Niall isn’t even telling you the best part about that trip,” he said, and Niall’s shoulders visibly dropped as he kept his eyes locked with Harry’s, a silent question there _(are you okay?)._ Harry just nodded, looking over to Louis, “it was the middle of the night that first night that Harry heard something outside and woke us all up panicking that he heard a bear! Something was scratching at the tent and there was no way it was a bear, but you couldn’t tell Harry that. He was convinced and there was nothing any of us could say to talk him out of it, so at 5 when the sun came up he made us all pack our shit and go to his dad’s cabin.”

Harry was laughing without even thinking about it, which was truly an amazing thing, “I maintain that it was a bear. I told you we shouldn’t have brought food into the tent, but Louis was stoned and insisted he needed crips. It was your fault we almost died by bear.”

And wow. Harry had spoken. He had spoken a lot and he’d poked at a memory that had sat in the back of his mind for years, just festering and making its presence known whenever Harry remembered the empire he’d destroyed. And the funniest part of all was, somehow, airing this memory in front of their newly married friend and his wife didn’t hurt. Maybe prodding at these long buried memories _with_ Louis was the secret to making them hurt less.

Sarah’s eyes were red and she giggled at Harry’s defensive story, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you two talk about each other.”

It was just a simple and obvious statement that she dropped into their little circle. No harm was meant by it. Sarah hadn’t known them together. She and Niall had only started dating a few years back. There was no way she could have known the harm they’d caused each other, so Harry couldn’t even be mad at the statement.

“We haven’t seen each other in a long, long time,” Louis explained softly, “I don’t like to chat shit when Harry isn’t around to stand up for himself.”

Harry could see the apology in Niall’s eyes as he looked back and forth from Louis to Harry. Harry tried to give him a tentative smile, but if he was honest he didn’t really understand what was going on. Louis was being nicer than he deserved, but who was he to argue that? It was stupid just how good it felt to be the object of Louis’ attention again, no matter how fleeting he assumed it was going to be. It was amazing just how calm and relaxed and different Louis could be from the firecracker he’d known and loved all those years ago. Louis had this air about him now that was unlike anything that Harry could remember. The last time he’d seen Louis there had be so much hurt in his eyes, but such a strong undercurrent of anger at Harry from ruining them. Now, Harry could see neither of those things and it was either because Louis was a different person and Harry couldn’t read him now, or it was because they weren’t there. Harry hoped it was the ladder.

“We should probably head back inside,” Niall said to Sarah. He shot Harry a look that Harry couldn’t quite read.

“’s fine if you want to hang out here,” Louis said, “I was just going to convince Harry to come for a walk with me.”

Louis’ eyes met Harry’s and Harry felt his stomach drop. As much as he knew there was really only one answer to the question that Louis was asking, a part of him was horrified at the thought of being alone with Louis. A part of him expected a wrath that had been raging inside Louis for 14 years to be released on him. It would only make sense.

“I might need another drink,” Harry qualified.

Louis smiled with the corner of his mouth, reaching into the breast pocket of his suit. He pulled out a flask and shook it in the air, a grin now fully formed on his face. “’s not scotch, its Jameson, think you can manage?”

Harry nodded, and just like that he was following the former love of his life across the lawn of the golf club. Louis took a swig of the drink, eyes firmly focused ahead. He handed the flask over to Harry without a word. Harry took a sip and braved looking over his shoulder at where Niall and Sarah were still standing, watching them walk away. Niall shot him the thumbs up to which Harry replied by giving him the finger.

Harry’s head felt fuzzy and he wasn’t sure if it was the weed or the fact that he was alone on a dark golf course following Louis Tomlinson’s lead. The world worked in mysterious ways. For years Harry had harboured a thought in the back of his mind about what it might be like if he were to run into Louis years down the road. But eventually he’d stopped hoping that it might happen—or that it might be magic. Louis was that constant question in the back of his mind—and it wasn’t like Harry had been hanging on. He’s stopped hoping for a reconciliation probably 10 years ago when he’d accepted that he’d been their breaking point and that it was okay to be happy again without Louis. He’d dated plenty of people and had had a long and meaningful relationship with a Scottish dreamboat named Martin that he _hadn’t_ fucked up.

So, it wasn’t like everything in Harry’s life was hinging on some gigantic and romantic reconciliation with Louis. That wasn’t realistic and he could accept that. What he couldn’t accept, however, was how _nice_ Louis was being. After all these years and all the time Louis had had to ruminate on that fact that he hadn’t done anything wrong, and he wasn’t even throwing that in Harry’s face? It didn’t make any sense.

“When did you move back to London?” Louis’ voice came from beside him. It was nice, being beside Louis. A pleasant warmth entered his chest.

“Back?” Harry asked because, why did Louis know that Harry had moved back? How did Louis know he’d ever left?

Louis looked over at him like he was an idiot, “yeah, back? Back from Glasgow?”

Harry blinked twice, staring blankly at Louis, “I didn’t realize you knew I’d gone.”

“Course I knew. We share a mate, you know. Of course he told me.”

“Right,” Harry said, still holding the flask. He took another swig, “I’ve been back for nearly a year.”

“Why Glasgow?” Louis asked, motioning for Harry to hand over the flask. Harry obliged.

“Honestly? I needed to get away from London. I needed a change and when I finished my Master's, there was an opportunity at a gallery there and I just kind of fell in love with the place. I was there a long time. Nearly 10 years.”

“You don’t have to answer,” Louis began, taking another sip, “but why did you need to get away?”

Harry felt like he was going to be sick. Why would Louis ask that? He had to know the answer, didn’t he? He had to know that the reason Harry wanted to leave London was because he was a horrible excuse for a human and everyone around him knew it and the only shot he had at being happy and normal was to surround himself with strangers and start over.

“Everything felt—tainted,” Harry could hardly breathe, but he kept walking forward. He had no real choice in the matter. He’d hurt Louis more than he had ever hurt another person and maybe he’d forgiven himself for making a mistake when he’d been 20 years old, but it still felt like he owed Louis his honesty. It was the least he could do. It was the least he could give to him, after everything he’d taken from them both. “It didn’t feel like I had a choice, really. There was something very attractive about just being another stranger among strangers. Running away was liberating at the time.”

Louis was quiet as he continued to walk down a dimly lit pathway. Harry was sure that they were just wandering aimlessly, but Louis was walking with purpose. He seemed determined to arrive somewhere, but Harry wasn’t sure where that might be.

“So you never asked Niall about me?” Louis’ voice broke the still air that had settled in after Harry’s confession.

Well, that was a loaded question. Best to be honest.

“Honestly?” Harry said softly.

“Honestly,” confirmed Louis.

Harry took a deep breath, “I didn’t think I deserved to know.”

Louis nodded, handing the flask back to Harry. He had always been attentive in their years together, so it shouldn’t seem so big that he had done a small thing by handing Harry a drink when he so obviously needed it. Harry took a drink and waited for Louis to break the new silence. He didn’t know what to say.

“Well,” began Louis, eyes firmly focused ahead, protecting himself from Harry’s gaze. He kept walking forward, and it felt like if they stopped this little bubble they were in was sure to burst, “I finished uni, got my psych degree and then went back for my Master’s,” he said calmly. God, this version of Louis was just so calm and so certain. It was enchanting, “then I got asked to teach some introduction courses. I didn’t really have a plan or anything. I never intended to do my PhD, but it just kind of happened. Professors around me pushed me and somehow I wrote my dissertation and that was that. I’ve been teaching at Middlesex since then.”

Harry smiled, there was a sort of comfort in knowing that Louis was okay with him knowing about his life in some capacity, “so it’s Dr. Tomlinson, then? That sounds so bizarre.”

Louis laughed dismissively, “I mean it is kind of foolish, isn’t it? Like if someone gets hurt tonight, you’re still going to want to call an ambulance.”

Harry laughed, his smile feeling comfortable on his lips. This was weird, but it was nice too.

“But, that’s not the stuff you really want to know, though, is it? I mean that’s just what I do,” Louis said, prying the flask out of Harry’s hand. He took a deep gulp before he said the next sentence, “when I left, the first few years were shit if I’m honest. I was really hurt for a really long time. I kind of just threw myself into the school thing because it didn’t feel like I had much else, if I’m honest. I felt kind of…just disposable I guess. I had a hard time reconciling what happened with my value as a person. I mean, it was shit, there’s just no good way to put it, but time has a way of healing wounds. Eventually things stopped hurting as much. Eventually the whole thing kind of became more like a scar than an open wound. It was still there, I still remembered it all but it stopped hurting like it used to.”

“Louis I—“

Louis put up his hand, “not done,” he said firmly. “I’m not mad at you, Harry. Not anymore. You were a kid—I was a kid. We were just two kids and that’s what your first relationship is supposed to be about. You hurt each other while you’re figuring out the world. I can’t hold that against you anymore.”

Louis took another sip from the flask before handing it to Harry, “so, you know, life moves on as it does. Time really takes no prisoners, does it? It doesn’t feel like so many years have gone by, but they have. They change you, the years. Things change and priorities shift and back pain comes in waves,” Harry laughed along with Louis and their laughter together kind of made his heart sing and kind of made him want to cry all in the same breath, “so, anyway, as it does, time made things hurt less, made other things matter. I got married.”

“I heard.”

“Ah, so you _did_ ask,” Louis turned to fix Harry with a look of satisfaction.

Harry shrugged, trying to not feel the irrational stab of pain in his chest. He _knew_ Louis was married. It was common knowledge. He’d known for a long time and it had no right to make his chest constrict in the way that it currently was.

“It was like, oh, I guess just over 7 years ago now,” Louis was oddly dismissive with the number, “Eleanor. That’s who I married. She worked at the school. She was a lab instructor in the psych department. We have a daughter,” he offered, and _that_ was a blow that Harry hadn’t been prepared for.

Not only had Louis married a woman, but she’d given him something that Harry could never have, even if he hadn’t fucked up their life together. How had Niall not offered him that information? Not only had Louis gotten married, but he’d started a family! Harry kind of wanted to break down, but he didn’t deserve to be able to do that in front of Louis. It was all his own fault anyway.

Perceptive as always, Louis stopped walking forward and looked at Harry. He lifted his left hand like he was showing Harry something, but nothing was there. Nothing was there! No ring. Louis cracked that half smile, “El and I are just another divorce statistic I’m afraid. Everything was finalized almost two years ago now. We’re civil, oddly so. We just want what’s best for Harper. That’s her name, by the way. She just turned five last month.”

Louis had always wanted kids. He’d come from a huge family, so he’d known young that one of his biggest dreams was to be a dad. It made Harry’s knees feel a bit weak to look at him and reconcile the fact that Louis was a dad and he was not. It had been 14 years, but somehow it still felt strange that they weren’t doing it together. Harry was used to his life not involving Louis, but that didn’t mean he was immune from being hurt by it. All these years and all this healing and growing and changing they’d both done, but somehow Louis was here and Harry was here. They were at the same place at the same time for the first time in a decade and a half but Louis was doing so much better than Harry. Harry had just figured out how to forgive himself and how to be okay with the things he’d done. Louis had done so much better and it wasn’t that he didn’t deserve it, it was just that it made Harry’s old wounds ache. Why could he still feel them when Louis was okay?

Harry couldn’t find a single word to say to Louis. He wanted to be happy for him. He wanted to tell him how amazing it was that he’d gotten his PhD and an impressive career along with it. He wanted to be able to tell him it was absolutely astounding the way he’d dragged Harry out here and had done nothing but treat Harry like a human being—like an equal who hadn’t done the most shameful thing in the world to hurt him. He wanted to feel excited for Louis about his daughter…but it just stung. It wasn’t rational. Harry knew that this was just how things worked. People hurt each other, they broke up and they moved on. That was the nature of the human experience. That was how things were supposed to work.

Hadn’t he thanked his blessings over and over that that was how time worked? Wasn’t he consistently grateful that time had made him feel human and worthy again?

“I forgive you.”

Louis’ voice was low and quiet and so sincere that Harry wanted to cry. He could feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t deserve that statement. So, he said as much.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, voice shaky. Why weren’t they walking anymore? Why were they just standing there in the dark night starting at each other and talking about the elephant that had never left the room since their relationship ended?

Louis scoffed like Harry had just said something light and laughable and like they weren’t talking about the thing that had brought them to their knees. The thing that had torn the foundation out from under them. The thing that Harry had done that had been inexcusable. The thing that all those years ago that made a tearful Louis tell Harry that he could never forgive him. What he’d done had ruined them before they’d ever really gotten a shot at things together. They’d only been together a couple of years. They’d both had relationships that had lasted longer than that since, but somehow their relationship still mattered.

“Of course you deserve that,” Louis said sternly, “you were a kid. Yeah, it fucking sucked, but I forgave you a long time ago, Harry. There’s no point in being upset about something that happened that long ago. I don’t think that people should just be remembered for the one shitty thing they did.”

And oh, god. Harry could see it all over again. After 2 weeks of sleeping on the couch in the flat they’d shared, Harry had come home from his barista job to see boxes everywhere. Panic had dropped into his gut because Louis was supposed to forgive him! He was supposed to understand how much Harry hadn’t meant it and they were supposed to move past it—together. Louis wasn’t supposed to _leave._

Harry had run into the bedroom to find Louis packing up his last drawer of clothes. No! _No, no, no!_ Harry had rushed over to Louis, tears in his eyes, stilling his hands from packing another item. He fallen to his knees and he’d begged Louis to stay. He would make it up to him. They could get through this, but Louis just had to stay. He just _had to stay._ Somehow, in the moment, watching Louis leave, Harry knew that things would never be okay again if he didn’t stay.

He hadn’t stayed, though. Louis hadn't stayed and now they were here. Face to face for the first time since that day, 14 years later. All the hurt should have gone, but Harry still felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I never wanted you to leave,” Harry said, not sure why he felt compelled to speak to that day, “I wanted to make it up to you, and I guess I know all these years later that it wasn’t really something I could do. I couldn’t just make it up to you because,” Harry’s voice hitched as he fought to hold back all the tears threatening to fall, “I broke us.”

Louis looked at him like he didn’t have a clue what to say.

“I guess, like I went over things in my head a lot over the years. I thought about what I might say to you if I ever got the chance, but I wasn’t expecting to get the chance,” he huffed a nervous laugh, “first thing I thought I’d tell you is that—I never did that again,” he could feel the flush on his cheeks. He was acknowledging it, putting into words the thing that had destroyed them, “I never did that to anyone else. Not that makes it better because I did it to you. I did it to the person I loved and I hurt you and I can’t just say something to make it better. But it felt like it would be important to tell you that I didn’t, like, become that kind of person. I’m not a cheater. I am loyal and I fucked up once, but like, that doesn’t mean I ever did it again. I know that doesn’t change that I did it to you, but I’m saying it anyway.”

Harry didn’t think there was a thing that could have come out of his mouth that would have sounded right. There was no way to apologize to someone he loved for doing something that was unforgivable. There was no way that it was okay that he’d done what he’d done. There was no way to tell Louis ‘I did this horrible thing to you, but its okay because I treated everyone after you so much better’. It wasn’t right.

Louis huffed the smallest laugh and Harry was mortified. He was staring Louis in the eye, like he’d imagined over and over in his head time and time again. He’d thought about this moment, though he had never expected it to come. He would bleed for Louis, he would show him how much the wrong he’d done had changed him as a person. He would express his regrets and of all the ways that he’d planned for Louis to react, this was decidedly not it.

“It’s just…time has a way of not making those things hurt the way they once did. Its funny because my memories of you…they’re so much less about the bad and so much more about the good. Isn’t it funny how the reason I left in the first place was my hurt, but the thing that lasted in my memory wasn’t even that?” Louis sighed, a smile still on his lips, “I mean, I’m glad to hear that—that you never did that again. I guess all the boyfriends you’ve had over the years owe me a thank you, eh? I lived through the shitty part so they could get all the good parts.”

Harry chuckled darkly, “I think they might argue that there were plenty of other shitty parts.”

Louis sipped the Jameson again, a thoughtful smile on his lips, “I kind of wish I got those other shitty parts though. I guess, like I had to leave because what would it have said about me if I’d stayed? I couldn’t accept the person that would have made me. I didn’t want to be pathetic. I didn’t like, want to be Hillary Clinton, you know?”

Louis handed the flask to Harry then just as Harry laughed at the comparison, “so I’m Bill Clinton? Somehow that feels like you’re letting me off easy.”

“I’m just letting you off in general. I just think that—you were the first person I ever loved, Harry. I’d kind of rather remember what that felt like.”

Harry didn’t know what else there was to say. Was he supposed to just accept this for what it was? And then, in a few years time he could meet up with Louis again at the next mutual friend gathering and they could laugh like old lovers do? Was Harry just supposed to finally let go of what he did and how it had changed the course of his life?

“And I mean this to sound way less stupid than it sounds,” Louis said, “but I’m grateful that it happened. That sounds so fucking dumb doesn’t it? ‘I’m grateful the man I loved cheated on me’. But, its been so many years and so much has happened in my life that probably wouldn’t have happened otherwise. I’m grateful we had each other, Harry. I really, really am. But I’m grateful for the years that came after too, because I learned a lot about myself. I have this great career and this amazing daughter and I might not have had those things otherwise.”

Harry nodded despite the fact that he wanted to scream that whatever would have happened in their lives, no matter what direction that would have taken them, would have been better than whatever they had now. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t just tell a man that his child wasn’t worth the life they might have had. There was no way to broach that subject, really.

“You sound sincere,” were the only words that Harry found.

“Because I am,” Louis affirmed.

“I guess I always just thought you’d want to avoid me or murder me in cold blood.”

Louis scoffed, “I have a kid now, wanker, I can’t risk prison time.”

The words burned on their way out, but Harry was pretty sure he meant them, “I’m glad you got that. The kid I mean. I bet you’re really good at being a dad.”

And the words did hurt on the way out. They were punctuated by a scathing sort of jealousy that Louis was a dad but that he had no idea what that looked like. He had no idea how Louis had looked cuddling a newborn on the couch. He had no idea what face he’d made when she’d taken her first steps and he had no idea if he had a pile of macaroni covered birthday cards that he treasured hidden away in a drawer. He had no idea how hard Louis had cried after putting her on the school bus for the first time. Those were the parts that hurt the most of all. Now, with Louis standing right in front of him it was impossible to ignore the fact that he had gone on to exist without Harry. And without Harry’s knowledge. There were so many parts of Louis now that he didn’t know and it hurt in a way he hadn’t been expecting.

“I mean, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last few years, its that no one does a perfect job. I try my best though. I feel like I failed her sometimes when I have to drop her off for a week with her mum. But that’s just it. Parental guilt is part of the gig.”

Harry shook his head back and forth, smiling now because things were moving to a lighter subject—one that hurt, but one that hurt way less than remembering what he’d done. He took a sip on the flask, “I can’t believe you married a woman.”

Louis laughed a proper laugh then, “no one ever told me I had to pick a side.”

Harry couldn’t couldn’t contain his smile. There were too many visuals running through his mind. Ones that he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Ones that were decidedly _not_ heterosexual. He laughed toward the ground.

“Honestly styles, you’re a proper arse—still!” But Louis was laughing, too.

The pain in Harry’s chest was subsiding and he found himself slipping into normalcy, even after all the years that had gone by. He wasn’t consciously thinking about it. It happened without it knowledge, because of he'd thought about it, he would have read way too much into the fact that he felt normal and comfortable in Louis’ presence.

“I just have a visual, okay?”

Louis rolled his eyes, snatching the flask from Harry’s hand and laughing as he took a sip, “I had a boyfriend, too,” Louis offered the information very offhandedly. “Right after we broke up. I guess that time it was my turn to be all the shitty parts. Sometimes I think back and still feel sorry for the lad, he didn’t have a chance stacked against you.”

Harry’s guy clenched. Louis had just said that, hadn’t he? Harry wasn’t hallucinating, was here? All these years, all these scars later and Louis just casually dropped into a conversation that the guy he’d dated after Harry hadn’t stacked up to his pathetic, wretched, adulterous ass? Oh, god, what a wild ride this night was. Harry choked on his own saliva trying to come up with something else to say, because what else could he do?

“Easy, now, Styles,” Louis said, tone light, “don’t let it get to your head.”

Louis started walking again, giving Harry the opportunity to find his footing again before the conversation continued in a direction that he didn’t fully understand. Harry kept pace with him, sneaking a glance over at Louis’ face. He could hardly believe how much he was still the same. He couldn’t believe that all the angles of Louis’ face had remained completely untouched by the years. He had spent so long trying to preserve the memories he had of Louis, but time had made it hard to remember them all in their full glory. Louis had always been an insane amount of beautiful. There was no way that a one dimensional memory could ever have properly captured that level of beauty.

And, oh, god. It had happened. Harry had gone there. He’d tried so hard to keep his thoughts from running to that place, but they’d gone there without his permission. He’d never stopped loving Louis. It just was what it was. He’d moved on, he’d made a life and he was _okay_ with that life. Everything was fine, just as it had been for a long time, but Louis was the first person he’d ever given his heart to and he didn’t know if that was ever supposed to change. Did people ever stop loving the first person they fell for? Was Louis just ‘the one that got away’? Was Harry just supposed to continue to compartmentalize those feelings and return to his normal life and forget that this moment—this intimate moment, walking in the dark of the night next to Louis and exposing their wounds to each other—had ever happened? He felt sick to his stomach.

“Well, I told you mine,” Louis said, “now tell me what you’ve been up to in the last 14 years. You never wanted to get married? Never got close?”

Harry fought against the ache in his gut, his eyes focused on his feet, “no, I got close,” he admitted softly.

“Who was it?”

It was awkward, there was just no two ways about it but Louis was asking so Harry had no real choice but to continue with his pledge of honestly. “Martin. We were together for 7 years,” Harry hadn’t talked about Martin in ages, it felt odd to bring him up to Louis of all people. “We weren’t on the same page, I guess. I spent a lot of years thinking we were, but I was wrong. He didn’t want to get married, I did. It was a bit of an impasse. He told me marriage was stupid and pointless and I guess we just kind of…fizzled out. It wasn’t like, a dramatic end or whatever. One day he just looked over at me and told me he wasn’t happy and there wasn’t much I could say because I guess I’d stopped being happy too.”

“Ouch,” said Louis.

Harry shrugged, “I mean, I guess you of all people would be happy to hear the real kicker of the story: we were together for 7 years and 8 months after we’d broken up I saw on fucking Facebook of all places that he was engaged. Guess it was just me.”

“And why would I be happy to hear that?”

“Because you got the shitty part of me, I figured you’d be satisfied that karmic payback gave me the shitty part of someone else.”

“Well, that’s a load of shit,” Louis said, voice firm. “I am a scholar, Harry. I don’t believe in karmic payback. I believe in facts, and the fact is you’re not half bad. You never were, even when you were Clinton. I hurt you too, and I don’t see you wishing ill on me.”

Harry was quiet because he didn’t know what to say.

“Sometimes I think about how I would handle things now. I’m not saying I want to go through that again, but I think there were more factors at play than I was willing to acknowledge at the time.”

Harry had cheated on Louis. He had had sex with another man who was not Louis. There wasn’t really a grey area. There wasn’t really ‘more factors’. Harry knew this. He’d analyzed it at least a million times and there were no other factors that he could think of. He had done the unspeakable and he’d broken the realest thing he’d had.

“You don’t have to say that, or be nice or whatever. I can own it. I fucked up. It was my fault. There weren’t other factors.”

“There were,” Louis was heated and serious now, “like, for starters, Grimshaw was a fucking snake. Massive factor that I overlooked,” Louis paused again, “did you know he tried to talk to me after? Like he tried to weasel his way in there and blame it all on you—but I like to think, at least the time, that I knew you better than anyone else did. He planted a seed, he had to have. There’s no way you would have done that to me if he hadn’t manipulated things in his favour. He made you doubt us. You’re not that person, Harry. It never would have happened if he’d been some random guy.”

Harry stopped walking then. It must have taken Louis a beat to realize, because when he did he had to walk back a few feet. When he came face to face with Harry again, Harry felt a panic in his gut. He was candidly talking about the worst thing he’d ever done and Louis wasn’t even _letting_ him take all the blame. This whole thing was just a lot to handle. It was so much more than he’d signed up for, and more than he’d expected when Gemma had offhandedly suggested that maybe he might have to see Louis in person.

Harry wanted to break. He wanted to break down so badly, because all the turmoil he’d felt 14 years ago was threatening to spill out onto the golf course. Everything inside of him hurt. He wanted to cry and scream and pull Louis close and push him away. He didn’t know how to process the feelings in his chest. He didn’t know how to keep walking next to Louis and talking like a decade and a half hadn’t passed. It was all too much. Harry was drowning.

It had been so long since he’d felt like he was falling like this. He was stumbling and tripping and falling into that dark place he’d spent so many years after Louis had disappeared from his life. It hurt like he remembered it hurting, and hadn’t he already done his time? Hadn’t he already had all of his karmic payback and walked through the 9 circles of hell just to be able to put back on his “human” face and fool the rest of the world (and himself) into thinking he was okay?

He didn’t want to do it again.

He felt Louis’ hand on his elbow and he was being strong. He was holding back his tears, but he knew that the second he spoke they’d betray him. So he didn’t say a word. He met Louis’ eyes, the same eyes he’d been staring into the night he’d come clean. The night that everything in his life changed course. Louis was just the same, and he should have been prepared for the fact that that was the worst part! Louis was Louis and that was more than Harry could ever deserve again. It was the most raw form of pain Harry had felt in a long time.

“Hey, Haz,” the soft way Louis said the nickname shot through Harry’s chest, intensifying the sense of panic that was still residing there. It wasn’t fair. “I know it's shit to talk about, yeah? The whole fucking thing was just a shit load of shit and all I wanted was for you to know that I don’t blame you and that I certainly don’t think you deserve some shitty karmic payback to happen to you. Our something shitty was the same something shitty, okay? And that’s it. I forgive you—hell, I _forgave_ you a long time ago, I just didn’t have the balls to tell you that. Now, what I really want, honestly, is for you to forgive yourself. You can’t keep beating yourself up over it. 14 years is too long to blame yourself for something.”

“It doesn't feel like it,” Harry mumbled softly.

Louis tugged on his elbow, a smile curving his lips. He pulled Harry forward, guiding him deeper into the night. The world was still so quiet, and as much as it still felt like he was breaking, the forward momentum brought some fresh air and a sense of calm to Harry’s insides. Louis dropped his hand from Harry’s elbow once he continued to follow and pressed the flask into Harry’s palm.

“Finish it,” he said, “clearly you need it more than I do.”

Harry let out a dark chuckle, but sipped the drink nonetheless.

There were a million things running through his mind, but most of all was the thought that there was nothing he could actually do to make it up to Louis. There was nothing he could do, even 14 years later, that would make it okay.

“Lou?” He asked, surprising himself with the intimacy of the nickname. Louis, for his part, seemed unbothered. Harry couldn’t help but think that Louis’ calm was exactly what he needed to quell the raging sea of emotions currently running through his stomach.

“Harry?”

“Let’s see a picture then. I want to see her.”

Louis pulled a face, “Eleanor?”

Harry scoffed, “of course not. Harper. Show me Harper.”

The name burned on its way out but he pushed passed it. The curiosity got the better of him. As much as it hurt, Harry had to know. He had to see her. He had to prove to Louis that he could do this, because the only thing that scared him more than facing the fact that he’d blown his chance to be a parent _with_ Louis was the thought of losing whatever they’d found tonight.

“Actually?” Louis seemed just as surprised as Harry was that he’d asked the question.

He hated that he was so transparent. He nodded and Louis obliged.

Louis pulled out his phone, frowning at it. Harry risked a glance over and saw that his phone had been on silent but that it was flooded with texts. Louis didn’t open them, though. He didn’t give them a glance. He went straight into his photos and pulled up the most recent picture, turning the phone to face Harry.

And there she was. A tiny Louis. It was unmistakable. She had his eyes, his nose, and his smug little smile. Her hair was white-blonde and she was wearing the most adorable matching tracksuit. Harry could have seen her in public and she would have stopped him dead in his tracks because _she was Louis._ She was this obvious extension of everything he was and Harry wanted to cry, even though he knew that was not a proper reaction. The jealousy swirling in his gut was unpleasant. She was gorgeous. Without a doubt the most beautiful little girl he’d ever seen, but it still hurt. It hurt to know that Louis had been okay without him because he’d really, really not been as okay without Louis as he thought he’d been.

“She’s…” his breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what he was going to say and it didn’t matter because they were suddenly interrupted.

“Tommo!” Niall was running to catch up to them.

He and Louis both turned to watch Niall approach. When Niall was standing in front of them, he crouched down, hands on his knees and made a point of dramatically catching his breath.

“God you two are annoying!” He began, “why the fuck would neither of you just look at your fucking phone?” Niall rolled his eyes before getting to the point, “anyway, while I’m glad you two were having a great time on your literal stroll down memory lane, my cousin apparently made it his mission to ruin yours and Lottie’s night. She’s so drunk she can’t stand up. Sorry to bust up the party, but she’s been throwing up and falling on her ass and I don’t even know if she has a clue who is speaking to her. Gem’s been in the bathroom with her, holding her hair back or whatever it is girls do for each other, but you gotta take her home mate. Or to a hospital. She can’t even stand.”

. . .

Harry watched as Gemma and Louis managed to get Lottie into the uber. It had taken nearly an hour to get her as far as the front doors. Harry had held a straw to her lips and tried to get her to drink some water, but that had just resulted in more puking. The night had been going one way and then in one split second it had gone another. Louis had been so worried about Lottie he hadn’t even really said a proper goodbye. Harry watched him climb into the back seat of the uber next to Lottie. Louis had managed nothing more than a simple wave and a regretful smile.

And just like that, after a night of bleeding through his old scars with Louis, he was gone again. He was gone and now everything was back in Harry’s chest and all the old hurt and harm were just sitting there all over again. He was falling. He was falling right back into the despair he’d nearly succumbed to 14 years ago and there was nothing he could do about it but watch Louis drive away without a word.

. . .

It had been two and a half weeks. It had been long enough that Harry had sold off an entire gallery of paintings and was halfway through curating the next. It was long enough that Niall and Sarah were already home from their honeymoon. It was long enough that the lasagna in his fridge that Gemma had sent home with him the Sunday after the wedding had started growing a particularly troubling mould colony.

Two and a half weeks was plenty long enough for a lot to happen.

It had all hit Harry in stages.

The first stage he liked to call the “awe” stage which had been mostly comprised of him standing in his mirror staring at himself trying to grasp the fact that he’d actually seen Louis in person. That they’d actually spoken, and stranger still, that they’d actually _laughed._

The second stage had been…not as fun. It had mostly been made up of Harry’s hungover sobbing on the floor in his shower, wrapped up in remembering just _why_ he and Louis hadn’t actually seen each other in fourteen years.

The third stage had been what Harry had liked to call the “what the fuck” stage, in which he picked apart the way Louis had acted and the directions that their conversation might have turned if it hadn’t ended so abruptly. It was also punctuated by an unreasonable amount of anger over the fact that Louis hadn’t even really said goodbye. It wasn’t that Harry thought that he deserved it or anything, it was mostly just that it had felt like maybe Louis would give it to him. This stage also included Harry questioning why they hadn’t at the very least exchanged numbers. He hadn’t really been ready to be done with the conversation. And it hadn’t felt like Louis had been either.

The rest of the stages came in waves. Anger. Mostly at him felt for fucking it up in the first place. Sadness because he’d forgotten how easy things came when Louis was around. It shouldn’t have still been like that. There were also fleeting moments of happiness because, make no mistake, Harry had been beating himself up for _years._ It had created an entire narrative about himself that centred around him being a giant piece of garbage, and then Louis had come along and _forgiven_ him. He’d planted a seed of doubt in Harry’s mind about who’s fault the whole thing had been. He’s spent nearly a decade and a half blaming himself, but now he’d been given a new angle: Nick. Had it been Nick?

Yeah, Harry had gone through a lot of stages, but the very worst one was whatever stage this one was.

Niall was sat on the other end of the couch while they watched some movie that Harry wasn’t paying attention to, because in this phase, he was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t hung up on this Louis thing. This was the phase where he accepted that now he and his ex were finally on okay-ish terms and he could go on and live his life. So for the first time in two and a half weeks, Harry had turned his tinder back on. It was going just fine, really. He’d talked Niall’s ear off about how he was going to “get back into the dating game”, which Niall had pointed out was the most cliched 30-something thing to say. Harry didn’t care though, because he was going to put himself out there again.

It was just…whoever all these guys were? They just weren’t _right._ London was huge and Harry had been swiping through most of the movie but he hadn’t actually said yes to a single person yet. Maybe he was being too picky, but he just knew what he wanted, okay? Guys that posted shirtless gym selfies weren’t it. Guys who had shitty political views, they weren’t it either. And when in the hell had so many people started getting lip injections?

Harry let out a squeal as he looked down at the next prospect and hit the lock button on his screen before dropping it on his lap and trying to school his facial expressions so that Niall wouldn’t ask. Naturally, the squeal had been more than enough to make Niall ask.

“Fuck’s wrong?”

Harry raked a hand through his hair shaking his head, “nothing.”

Niall reached his hand out, gesturing for Harry’s phone. “Show me.”

“No, its nothing,” Harry could feel his whole fucking face turning red.

“You still on Tinder?” Niall wiggled his eyebrows up and down, “see something you like? _Show me.”_

“ _No,”_ Harry said, clutching his locked phone to his chest, “it’s not that, it’s um…Louis. I just saw Louis on tinder.”

Niall’s face lit up, his grin spreading across his face, “gimme your phone.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, “absolutely not.”

“Give me your phone Harry.”

Harry just shook his head petulantly.

Niall crossed his arms over his chest, expression turning serious, “you haven’t shut up about—“

“Niall stop!—“

Niall covered Harry mouth with his palm, “I’ve been back for 5 days and you haven’t shut up about Louis yet. Don’t try to pass it off as anything else, or I swear to fuck. Just be an adult. You’re a 34 year old man for Christ sake. Just swipe on him.”

. . .

Later that night, Harry was alone again. He’d eventually gotten Niall to pick a different topic. He hadn’t unlocked his phone since he’d seen Louis’ face staring back at him. Now, though, he’d showered and settled into his warm bed and his phone was sitting next to him, taunting him. Normally he played candy crush until he fell asleep and dropped his phone on his face. It was how he unwound at bedtime. Louis wasn’t still supposed to have this much effect on him.

He sighed, disappointed in himself for how much he actually might still care.

He might actually still _more_ than care about Louis.

God, he felt sick to his stomach. This wasn’t a fun stage. This stage where he had to reconcile the fact that 14 years after he’d fucked up the best relationship of his life and he still might be very much in love with Louis. That wasn’t really possible though, was it? He didn’t even _know_ Louis anymore. He himself had become such a different person…but walking with Louis that night he’d felt like he’d been a kid again. He felt how he’d felt when he was 18 and had first started to come to understand just how marvellous of a person Louis Tomlinson was. He’d felt like he’d been 19 again, waking up next to Louis every single day that year and falling more and more in love each time. And he’d felt like he’d been 20 again, forgiving Louis after every row and making love until he forgot he’d ever been mad.

And worse than that, he’d remembered exactly how it had felt to go back to their flat that morning. His mouth had tasted like Nick’s toothpaste and Louis had _apologized._ He had wrapped his arms around Harry and he’d apologized and Harry had had no choice but to tell him the truth.

The same truth that had torn them apart.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Harry was so fucking fucked. He’d worked so hard to just be _okay_ and one night with Louis had torn apart 14 years of effort.

His phone chimed then, scaring him out of his reverie. He looked over at his phone and saw a text from Niall.

 **_Niall Horan:_ ** _Swipe him or I’m giving him your number._

Meddling Niall. Harry chose to not respond. The promise seemed empty anyway because what on planet earth would Louis want with Harry’s number anyway? Just because Niall gave it didn’t change the underlying issue: which was, of course, that Harry was a cheating piece of garbage from his past.

Harry closed his messages and then moved to hold his finger over tinder. He watched the tiny icon shake, and if he just clicked the ‘x’ and deleted the app, well then he wouldn’t have to deal with this at all. But that somehow felt less logical. Instead he just refreshed the app and opened it back up.

Sure enough, exactly as he had intended, Louis’ face had been replaced by a different guy. Harry let out a sigh of relief. There were nearly 9 million people in London. There was just no way that Harry was going to come across Louis’ picture again. Harry swiped no to the guy’s picture, because he was…just wrong, okay? Tinder was a shallow app. Harry was aware of that. He was probably only going to swipe on handsome guys. The next one was…well, handsome, but his arm muscles were so big that Harry had no interest in being naked next to him. It would have done awful things to his self-esteem. The next, next guy was kind of dorky looking, which was cute. He was definitely cute but his profile said he had 4 cats and someone with 4 cats probably had some issues, right? So Harry gave him a swipe to the left and then felt his heart fall to his stomach when he saw Louis’ face again. Panic dripped into his gut which was a really fucking weird reaction to seeing your ex boyfriend on a dating app.

It was just that, well, what if somewhere on the other side of London, Louis was also laying in his bed looking at his prospects only to come across Harry? What kind of reaction would he have to that? Probably not a good one.

Bravely, this time, Harry looked deeper into his profile. Each picture he looked at just reminded him of the moment he’d had when they’d spoken where he’d looked at Louis face, like properly looked, only to realize that time hadn’t diminished his beauty at all. If anything, time had softened him, had settled him. He’d seemed much less like the rambunctious prankster he’d once been and much more like the kind of person you might want to sit at the dinner table with night after night. The kind of person who could take care of you and wouldn’t mind it on bit. The kind of man who could wrap you in his arms and make the world seem much less horrifying. He was safe. The kind of person Harry might want to grow old with.

Which was kind of a problem, considering he’d fucked that up many years ago.

Louis’ eyes were still the same shade of blue and his smile was still kind in all the ways it had always been. He remembered the younger version of Louis, so full of piss and vinegar with every person around him, but who also took every opportunity he could to whisper into Harry’s ear how beautiful he was. He’d always been so harsh to the rest of the world, hardened by many years of being a big brother and the only man in the house for most of his life, but he’d always been so soft for Harry. He’d always given his love so freely. Where the rest of the world got sass and banter, Harry had gotten hushed words, romantic gestures and forehead kisses.

Sure, they’d fought, but Louis always apologized. Every single time. Harry had been stubborn when he’d been longer, keen to ignore Louis for days when they’d argued, but it had never lasted because for Harry, Louis was just a giant softie. He was always ready to roll over and let Harry win, always ready to let Harry have whatever he wanted. And Harry and pushed and pushed over and over because he didn’t understand why he’d deserved it. He’d pushed and pushed until he’d done the unspeakable and there was finally something that Louis wouldn’t forgive him for.

Until now, apparently.

Louis had told him he forgave him.

Harry reset the app again. It felt wrong, somehow to just swipe left on Louis. If he was being honest, it was because he didn’t want to. He wanted to live in a perfect world where he could just admit to Louis what he was feeling, but he’d ruined those chances. He’d forfeited his right to do such.

When he reopened the app he realized he was at am impasse, because Louis’ face was still there. 6 miles away. After all these years and all the miles that Harry had attempted to put between them, they’d been in the same room and now they were just 6 fucking miles apart. Funny how the world worked in the cruellest way.

He closed the app again before opening up his texts. He didn’t want to talk to Niall about this because…it felt weird, Niall being so close to them both. Instead he opened up his texts to Gemma and tapped out a quick message.

 **_Harry Styles:_ ** _I’m actually sat here considering swiping yes to Louis on Tinder. Talk me out of it? Pros and Cons?_

Three dots immediately appeared at the bottom of his screen.

 **_Gemma Styles:_ ** _Pro: fucking do it, you have nothing to lose. Con: no cons found._

She followed it up with a shrugging emoji.

Harry let out a deep sigh, locking his phone and tossing it across the bed. He wished it was as easy as Gemma was making it out to be. He reached out and shut off his lamp, resigning for the night. He pulled up his covers and rested his head on his pillow.

And then his phone rang. He had no reason to feel so anxious. Absolutely none a all apart from the fact that Niall had just threatened to give Louis is number! But Louis wouldn’t just call him up at nearly midnight, would he? Harry felt his heartbeat in his throat as he reached out to grab his phone.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Gemma’s name on the screen.

“Hey,” he breathed into the phone.

“How are you feeling?” Gemma’s voice was genuine. Harry was pretty sure he’d hit the sister jackpot. He’d always thought that. Gemma had done nothing but care for him their entire lives. He was eternally grateful that she hadn’t disowned him by now.

“Honestly,” he said, “a lot. I’m feeling a lot. I’m not really sure what to do about it because, like, I never _expected_ to see him again. I never thought I’d get that chance and I never thought it would be how it was. I never expected that he’d just be…Louis, you know? And then I let myself realize how nice it was, and then I got lost in it and then it just like ended. He just left and there was no talk about following anything up and I don’t know if that’s just because he didn’t intend to or if it was because he was too worried about Lottie, but like a wave goodbye? Gem that felt like shit. I’m not saying I think I deserved more than that, but like, I wanted it. I would have liked to have like…finished things. But instead he just left and now I’m like stuck in this overthinking thing and…” Harry sighed, “and it had just been so long since I’d like, properly thought of him. I didn’t remember all the little things and what he sounded like and all that and now its’s fresh again and—“

“Harry,” Gemma’s voice was firm as she cut off his rambles, “swipe him.”

“But its— _Louis_.”

“Swipe him, Harry. What’s the worst that could happen? He doesn’t swipe you? That won’t change anything. Things will just be the same as they have been. Sure maybe you’ll go back to pouting for a bit, but you survived worse. The best thing that can happen, though, is maybe it will at least open up the conversation. I mean, _he_ talked to _you_ first, I saw it. He watched you walk away from our table and cornered you while you were alone. He obviously wanted to talk to you, why would it be any different now? You have to at least try, babe, he can’t see what you swipe unless he swipes the same.”

Harry sighed deeply.

“Babe, put me on speaker and do it.”

Harry pulled the phone away from his ear, putting Gemma on speaker, “I can’t believe this is even happening,” he mumbled as he moved to open the app again.

And there he was, Louis Tomlinson. He was smiling, just a slight smile. The kind he did most often out of politeness or when he was the only one in on a joke. Harry had seen that smile several times at Niall’s wedding. Louis had been amused, no doubt at Harry’s expense. But, what was better than recognizing the private smile on Louis’ tinder profile, was the fact that Harry knew about all of the other smiles. He knew about the sassy smile Louis gave to those he couldn’t actually stand (which was very often paired with an eye-roll in the opposite direction of the recipient), and best of all, Harry knew what his real smile looked like. He knew the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners. He also knew the seductive smile, the one that haunted Harry’s sex dreams for the last decade and a half and the way Louis would wiggle his eyebrows to punctuate the true meaning of his grin.

It was such a dumb thing, sitting here staring at a yes or no question about Louis. Yes. Louis had always been a yes. He’d be a fool to say no.

He didn’t have the time to dwell on all of that right now, though, because Gemma was on the phone. He closed his eyes, his finger hovering over the screen, “I’m gonna do it,” he announced, despite the fact that he had not done anything yet.

“Then do it,” despite how annoying Harry was being, her voice carried no annoyance.

Harry held his breath and swiped to the right, closing his eyes again. There was a half a second where the next guy’s picture had been about to show up, but then his phone vibrated and he saw “It’s a match!”

He let out a yelp, dropping his phone onto his bed.

“What!” Demanded Gemma.

“It’s…a match,” he said the words slowly because he really hadn’t prepared himself for the possibility that Louis might have _already_ said yes to him. Who knows how long he’d been waiting for Harry’s response?!

“Told you,” said Gemma, “now, while you ponder endlessly over what you’re going to say to him until you make him wait so long he just messages you, and I’m going to sleep. Goodnight Harry. Try to get some sleep.”

Harry wanted to argue that he wasn’t going to overthink what to say to Louis, but he didn’t bother because she was right. He just said his goodbyes and put his phone under his pillow.

This whole thing was so strange. What a brave new world they lived in. Fourteen years ago the thought that he might see Louis on some dating app would never have crossed his mind. Now he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. How long had they both been on these foolish dating apps just happening to dodge each other? How many times had he probably just missed seeing Louis because he’d gone on a handful of dates with some guy and paused his profile in the act of hoping for the best?

It had taken Niall getting married to get them into the same room, and now that he’d seen Louis— _spoken to Louis—_ he couldn’t get him out of his head. It had been ruling his thoughts for weeks and now in some act of bravery while being egged on by his sister he’d swiped yes on the ex-love-of-his-life. Or current. Harry was pretty uncertain about a lot of things, but he was pretty certain that his love for Louis hadn’t really gone anywhere. He’d just buried it under a mountain of shit.

He didn’t often allow his mind to wander to the place it went, but it did so without his permission.

There was a yucky feeling in his gut. He remembered it like it had happened merely weeks ago, not 14 years ago. Louis had always been hot-headed. He didn’t initiate arguments, but he’d argue until he was blue in the face if Harry had cared enough to start one. He and Harry argued regularly because there was a thing inside of Harry that seemed to always be working to sabotage this sanctuary he’d found because it never felt like he was good enough for Louis. The thing was that Louis was everything to everyone. He was his mum’s best friend, but also the person who’d held her family together through two divorces. He’d never complained that she’d expected too much of him, because that wasn’t who Louis was. He gave and he didn’t expect anything in return. He gave because he loved and it had never occurred to him to be another way. He’d helped raise his four sisters and had given up every evening and weekend of his life to babysit and the worst part? The worst part was that when he looked back on it, it was fondly! He’d loved cooking them dinner and tucking them in. They were everything to him and he hadn’t even considered that maybe most other teenaged boys might not have reacted the same. It was just who Louis was. And he was smart! He had pretty much gotten 90s across the board through the years of uni that Harry had known him. He managed to play uni football and maintain robust friendships _and_ somehow be the best boyfriend that Harry thought anyone could possibly be.

And Harry, he was an idiot. His parents had gotten divorced when he was unfortunately old enough to remember it and it had planted a doubt inside of him. Now, halfway through his 30s, he saw it. But back then? He hadn’t known how skeptical of love he was, he acted out subconsciously. He tested Louis’ boundaries regularly. Louis didn’t deserve that because he was nothing but kind and patient with Harry, but Harry didn’t even realize he was doing it! He’d fight with Louis about how he loaded the dishwasher, about how he took off his pants (inside out, really?!) And he argued about how much time Louis spent on all of his commitments that weren’t Harry. He pushed and he pulled and then he pushed some more.

The prime example of this was his friendship with Nick Grimshaw. He and Louis had been together for just over two years and nothing was wrong with them. Nothing at all. The worst thing that Harry could think of was the fact that there was nothing wrong because what if there really was something wrong and he just didn’t see it? What if it caught him off guard and Louis left without him seeing it coming? It was the worst thing he could think of. He didn’t want to let his guard down because Louis could easily shatter him, and if it came down to it, Harry wanted to control the chaos. He wanted to be the reason things were tense because then at least _he was in charge_.

It was a horrible character flaw, one that Harry had been working on ever since he and Louis had ended. He had mostly spared Martin and the others from this trait, but he remembered what it had felt like to be punching up. Louis had been too good for his younger self (hell, he was probably still too good for his 34-year-old self). And that’s maybe part of the reason he’d done what he’d done.

In his first year of uni, just a few months before he’d met Louis, Harry had been kind of dating Nick. Nick was a fourth year and a TA in one of Harry’s Fine Arts classes. Harry had liked him, but there had always been something that had kept him from being serious about Nick. They’d never actually slept together. They’d gone on a lot of dates and fooled around plenty, and Harry spent most of every weekend in Nick’s bed, but for whatever reason things were just moving a lot slower with Nick than they had ever moved with anyone else.

And then Louis had happened. He’d never really broken up with Nick because, well, it had never really felt like they’d been properly together. And it didn’t feel like he had to, because once Louis was in the picture it had been pretty clear to everyone in his life that Louis was now, officially, the reason the world turned.

He hadn’t stopped talking to Nick, though. They’d switched (at least in Harry’s opinion) pretty easily from courtship to friendship. Of course it had become common knowledge between Harry and Louis that he and Nick had a history. Louis always looked particularly ruffled when he brought up anything regarding Nick. It was an issue, although Louis would never go far enough to say that he didn’t want Harry hanging out with him.

Until that day 14 years ago.

They’d all been out drinking. Nick had just turned in his Master’s thesis and he’d invited Harry and Louis to his celebration party at the pub. A lot of people had been there. Harry hadn’t really thought much of it. He and Nick had talked a lot the past month or so, but that was just because he was stressed and Harry wanted to help. They’d had phone calls and pub nights a lot recently and Harry saw that it was getting under Louis’ skin, but nothing was happening. Harry had challenged Louis relentlessly. He’d snapped off about how ‘what kind of fucking relationship is this if you don’t even trust me’. He’d denied that anything had been happening between he and Nick, because nothing _had_ happened. And if Harry sometimes unloaded the specifics of their relationship problems on Nick, well that was normal, okay? It was normal because they were ‘just fucking friends’ as he reminded Louis every chance he got.

But that night at the pub, Nick had spent most of the night chatting Harry’s ear off. Harry had been receptive and laughed along with him, because Louis was right there. There was no way that he could think something was happening because he was right there watching them!

But it turned out that Harry was very wrong in his assumption. Louis was pissed. He could see the anger boiling in Louis’ eyes as he stood next to Nick, Nick’s arm draped around his shoulders.

“I want to go home,” Louis had said, point-blank staring at the arm around Harry’s shoulders.

Harry had rolled his eyes like the fucking asshole he was and shrugged Nick off. He and Louis had walked the entire way home in silence. Silence with Louis was kind of worse than fighting because he knew that Louis was trying to edit his feelings. He was trying to work through them in his own so that he didn’t say the wrong thing to Harry and that made Harry crazy! He wanted the non-edited, non-PC version of Louis. The bad and the good so that Harry could be reminded that there _was_ bad, because it was easy to be overwhelmed by Louis’ excellence.

When they got home, Harry was halfway through brushing his teeth when Louis appeared in the mirror. Louis’ eyes were red and puffy but it didn’t look like he’d been crying. He just looked…upset. The unfortunate thing for him was that Harry had probably had one too many drinks and _he_ was upset, too. Louis kept his gaze on Harry in the bathroom mirror, his arms wrapped around himself.

“Your friendship with Nick bothers me.”

Thinking back on it, as he had about a million times, Harry realized there was no motive behind the way Louis had said his words. He certainly wasn’t looking to start a fight. He’d just been trying to explain what had upset him.

Unfortunately for Louis, though, Harry in that moment had far less foresight.

“It’s not up to you to pick my friends, Louis. I’ve known Nick longer than you. This isn’t a fucking dictatorship. You don’t get to pick my friends.”

Harry’s words had been the catalyst to an explosive argument. The worst one they’d had to date. It had resulted in Harry declaring that he was spending the night at Niall’s because he couldn’t put up with Louis’ ‘bullshit dictatorship’.

The first problem, was of course, that he didn’t actually go to Niall’s. He hadn’t even called Niall. He’d called Nick. He’d met up with Nick and his anger, combined with the way that Nick spoke about how ‘unhealthy’ and ‘controlling’ Louis was (which wasn’t exactly a new conversation) and the few drinks they’d had lead them to do the one thing they’d never actually done while dating.

He’d slept with Nick.

He’d slept with Nick and ruined the best thing he’d ever had.

And now here he was, 14 years later, thinking he was worthy of Louis reaching out to him again. Harry let out a small laugh because it was was laughable! He could remember doing it, but it didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like something a rational person might have done. And it wasn’t, because Harry had very much not been rational. Louis had been too much, too good and Harry hadn’t known what else to do so he’d ruined it. He’d burned them to the ground with one stupid decision.

He could remember being that insecure, but he’d grown up so much since then. The years had brought with them reason, rationality and the ability to think ahead. He could now forecast the outcomes of his actions, something that had been so foreign to him at age 20. He hated that Louis had gotten the shitty part. It wasn’t fair that he had been the one that Harry tested his boundaries with. Louis had deserved so much more than that.

Somehow, in his mental downward spiral, Harry had forgotten what particular stressor had induced it.

He was reminded, though, when he felt his phone vibrate under his pillow. He pulled it out, expecting an encouraging text for Gemma or another threat from Niall—but instead it was Tinder and it read: Louis sent you a new message!

And now it was definitely time to panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. As always I love comments. 
> 
> Once my semester is finished I can't wait to finish this fic, Don't Give Me Those Eyes and the other...like 3 one shots I have planned! Stay tuned! 
> 
> Oh and hit my up on Instagram @feels.like.home01
> 
> And stay safe everyone. Stay home and flatten the curve! 
> 
> xx


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I meant for this two be 2 parts...well actually I meant for it to be a one shot, but now its 3 parts and I clearly lack the ability to be concise. 
> 
> I am who I am. 
> 
> Instagram: @feels.like.home01

_Part II_

_You said you cared and you missed me, too_

There was no sense in entertaining the idea of not opening the message straight away. It would literally kill Harry if he didn’t immediately know whatever it was that Louis had said. There was no way he was going to pretend to be cool by waiting to read it and worse off, waiting to respond. Harry could be honest enough to himself and say that it was not an option. He needed to know what on earth Louis might want to say to him at 11:30 on a Monday night.

**_Louis:_ ** _Harry Styles, you sly dog. I can’t believe you swiped on me._

A grin that was impossible to fight against overtook Harry’s face. His fingers flew to the keyboard before he even thought about it.

**_Harry:_ ** _given that it was an instant match, I don’t think you find it hard to believe at all. You were waiting for my response._

Harry hit send without overthinking it.

He grinned and pressed his phone to his chest, staring up at the ceiling like some bad teen Netflix special. He didn’t care, though, because there was something about having Louis involved that made it seem a lot less scary.

It was barely a few seconds before a one word response arrived on his screen.

**_Louis:_ ** _Brat._

Harry’s grin was impossibly wide. God…how could someone he’d seen one time in 14 years have this much power over him? Why did this 3 text exchange fill him with hope? All the sadness and disappointment and questions he’d been running over in his head for 2 and a half weeks were silenced and everything felt weirdly okay. He tried not too read too much into it.

Just as he was about to return the favour by telling Louis he was also a brat, another message appeared.

**_Louis:_ ** _Give me your number._

It wasn’t a question. Not that Harry would have said no even if it was.

**_Harry:_ ** _we’ve barely even spoken, and you expect me to just hand it over like that? I haven’t even determined yet if you’re the real Louis and not a catfish._

Half a second after hitting send, Harry send his number. He was weak. What else could be say?

Before he even had a chance to address the hope that had sprouted in his chest, his phone was ringing. Of course, there was the option still that it wasn’t really Louis at all and that he was about to receive a phone call from a random Tinder catfish that had stolen Louis’ pictures and was going to try to con him into laundering money in a very polite way, but most of Harry doubted that. Before his phone rang for the second time, his caller ID kicked in and “Tomlinson, Louis” appeared on his phone. Butterflies assaulted his stomach as he pressed accept.

Before he got a chance to say a word, Harry was immediately blessed with the calm tone of Louis’ Yorkshire accent (something that he had held onto after nearly two decades in London, and something that Harry appreciated very deeply).

“I was just being polite you know,” Louis explained as Harry pressed his phone tighter to his ear, “I already had your number, I was just making sure Niall didn’t give me a fake one just to be a dick.”

“Niall gave you my number?”

Part of Harry was pissed, but part of him wasn’t surprised because Niall usually meant all of the things he said. Fucking Niall. How could be betray Harry like that and let Louis know that he’d been asking about him? It was embarrassing enough for his cheeks to flush even though Louis wasn’t even there.

“Yeah, I mean, it took some persuading. The first hundred times he told me to figure out my own life and that he was absolutely not getting involved in our shit, but tonight he changed his mind.”

Louis had asked? _Louis had asked for his number and Niall had spent 2 and a half weeks not giving it to him?_ Harry’s skin prickled with annoyance. Fucking Niall. Honestly, just fuck him.

“Listen,” said Louis, voice soft, “I wanted to apologize for the other night, at the wedding. I didn’t really get a chance to say goodbye because I was wrapped up in my lush sister, but I didn’t mean to just dash without saying goodbye. I made such a big show about being an adult and then I left you standing there like an idiot.”

“Oh,” said Harry, his stomach flipping uncomfortably, “I didn’t realize I looked like an idiot.”

His joke must have caught Louis off guard because it started a laugh out of Louis, “I meant I was the idiot, _idiot.”_

Louis’ words were so light and playful that Harry kind of didn’t care that he’d been ready to go to bed. He kind of wanted to stay up all night laughing at Louis and taking the piss. Two weeks of worrying that Louis hadn’t cared and now he was faced with an apology and the realization that he would have reached out long ago, had he had the means.

“What time do you work tomorrow?” Louis asked.

“Tuesdays I don’t go in until 11,” Harry answered without even thinking about why Louis might be asking that sort of question.

“Perfect,” Louis said, smile evident in his voice, “I think we should get breakfast.”

Harry felt nauseas, but he tried to mask it with a joke, “do you now?”

Louis chuckled, “I do. I’ll even let you pick the place. I haven’t got much of a schedule lately, being summer and all. I’m just working on some research, but I can put it off long enough for breakfast.”

“Research. Fancy, Dr. Tomlinson,” Harry teased.

“I’m just going to proceed with the belief that you said yes. Send me the name of the place and I’ll be there for 9.”

“Some people just don’t outgrow the bossiness.”

“Would you really have me any other way?”

Harry felt his heartbeat in his throat, “taller, maybe?”

Louis snorted, “9 am, tell me the place and don’t you dare stand me up, Styles.”

. . .

Harry was walking toward the restaurant he’d randomly picked last night based on its proximity to his work. He’d never been there before, but that felt good. This was forever going to be the first place he met up with Louis on purpose in a decade and a half. It felt important that no other memories held sway there. The sun was already out and it was gearing up to be a perfect summer day, the kind of day that made Harry resent the fact that he needed to work. He would have much preferred sitting in the garden reading a book, but alas he still had rent to pay. Being an adult might have meant eating cereal for dinner and going to bed whenever he felt like it…but it still wasn’t nearly as much fun as he’d thought when he’d been a teenager.

Harry walked purposefully toward the cafe, not really knowing what to expect. There was a part of his heart, a very large part, that recognized that there was no way he’d probably ever be strong enough to just think of Louis as one of the lads. Just a guy he had a casual friendship with. There was far more invested on his part and he had absolutely no reason at all to have nerves in his stomach. There was no reason to assume that whatever he was walking into was a date. Why on earth would Louis ever agree (or initiate) a date with Harry? He wouldn’t. Obviously. Harry knew that.

The issue, of course, was the medium that had finally gotten them into contact after two and a half weeks of not speaking. A dating app. They’d matched with each other on a dating app and that made Harry’s mind race in about a million different directions. He tried to think of reasons of why this was not a date: first, it was breakfast. Second, Louis had never expressly said ‘would you like to go on a breakfast date with me?’ Third, Louis had never at any point indicated the sort of lingering feelings that Harry was trying to sort through, and Louis was nothing if not direct, so Harry figured if there were lingering feelings, he’d already know. And fourth, and kind of most importantly: Harry was still a cheating piece of garbage and why on planet fucking earth would Louis want to be anything other than platonically friendly with him?

He was just about to compile some more reasons when he heard his name being called from across the street.

And there he was. There was Dr. Louis Tomlinson, dressed casual in black jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt waving from across the street. Harry felt his heart beat rise as he returned the wave and watched Louis cross the street when the light changed. He was looking as nonchalant as possible with aviators covering a good portion of his face (including the most important portion, the deep blue eyes that Harry desperately needed to be able to see in order to understand the tone of basically anything Louis said). He approached Harry quickly, nothing other than quiet confidence in his stride, like there was nothing horrifying about this experience.

And Harry guessed, at least for Louis, there _was_ nothing horrifying about this experience. Louis could draw the line wherever he wanted because he was not the bad guy here. He had nothing to worry about because Harry had no right to hold any sort of expectation and he got to set the entire tone of their meet-up because he was the one with the power. It was a very unnerving feeling for Harry to know this, but instinctually he trusted that Louis knew what he was doing, what he wanted. Sure, maybe he was just being nice to lay a foundation to hurt Harry all over again, but that wasn’t who Louis was. That had never been who Louis was. Harry trusted that whatever happened here, in this weird situation with Louis, he wasn’t looking to cause him harm. Harry felt that.

And then Louis was a meter in front of him and smiling. The only thing to do when greeted with a smiling Louis Tomlinson was to smile back. It was simple math. Harry gave him a tentative grin, just as Louis pushed his sunglasses off of his face and onto his head. There they were, the perfect blue eyes he had been missing. They were calm today, at ease and Harry wanted to swim in them.

“Bonjour,” said Louis, the side of his mouth turning up in a cheeky grin.

“Hola,” said Harry, returning the smile.

“Hungry?” Ask Louis, gesturing toward the restaurant.

Harry shrugged, “I could eat.”

Sitting at table in a fairly quiet cafe, across from the former love of your life is a weird thing to behold. Harry was suddenly unsure about what to do with his hands. He kept thinking maybe his posture was too formal, but he didn’t want to slouch and have Louis think he didn’t care. He didn’t want to lean too far forward and have Louis read it as a move. Harry was absolutely not making any sort of moves. That was off the table 1 million percent. He kept thinking about how loudly he should be talking for fear of other people reading their breakfast as something more intimate. It was stressful and it was a lot. Harry barely even had an appetite for breakfast on a good day but now he was just supposed to sit across from Louis and eat like this wasn’t the first time they’d actively decided to spend time together in a decade and a half? What if he got food on his face? Worse, what if Louis noticed and told him he had food on his face and he had to slowly shrivel into himself until he was no longer recognizable as a human being.

“Harry?” Said Louis, blue eyes shimmering from across the table, where he was leaning forward with both of his elbows on the table and his chin cradled by one of his palms.

Harry looked up and made eye contact.

“Could you maybe chill out and stop acting like I’m getting you your last meal before execution?”

Simultaneously, Harry felt his face be taken over by a warm flush and felt laughter fall from his mouth. He choked a bit on his laughter and saw Louis’ face soften a bit as he did.

“I’m not good in the morning,” Harry said, but it was a lie. Harry was a morning person to his very core, but his only other option was to tell Louis the truth, and to be honest he wasn’t even quite sure wha the truth was.

“Mm,” Louis said, lifting his glass of water to take a sip like he didn’t believe a word out of Harry’s mouth. He was letting him get away with it though, so that was nice. “So your work is close to here then?”

Harry nodded, picking up his own glass of water if only for something to do with his hands, “‘bout a 5 minute walk that way,” he said gesturing vaguely out the window in the direction of the gallery.

Harry kind of wished the waitress would hurry up and take their orders so that this awkward first moment together could be cut short. He didn’t get his wish though because their server was otherwise engaged with a particularly chatty elderly couple. Harry looked back over to Louis to find him already looking at him.

Louis’ face softened as their eyes met and Harry felt his cheeks heat again. Honestly, fuck this guy.

“Tell me about it,” encouraged Louis, “your work I mean. We didn’t really get a chance to talk about it the other night.”

Harry took a gulp of his water before placing it back onto the table, “um, yeah, sure. I um, I curate the gallery. I pick what pieces we bring in and I arrange the sales. It’s pretty much exactly the job any Fine Arts MA could want. It’s fun, honestly.”

“Sure, sure, I mean what could be more fun than pandering to the rich elites and throwing what I’m sure are wild and fun gallery parties and generally kissing ass.”

Harry laughed for a second, “I like to think of it as charming the pants off of the bourgeoisie and enticing them to part with thousands of pounds. I’m also pretty good at it.”

“Well you always were good at kissing ass,” mischief sparkled in Louis’ eyes and Harry hoped the joke was only surface level and not playing at anything from their past because he could absolutely _not_ handle that.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Harry said.

“No, no,” amended Louis, “certainly not a bad thing,” he winked and before Harry could think about processing that, their waitress appeared.

They ordered their food, smiling politely at the server and then she was gone and it was just them again. Just Harry and Louis and Louis’ winks. God damn.

“Are you still painting?” Louis asked without intent.

Harry chewed on the inside of his lip before he started to form a response. “Honestly, not much anymore. It’s been a few years since I finished something.”

I wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. Harry had gone away to university a painter. He’d been obsessed most of his life with the process of creating something new. He’d wanted to learn everything there was about it and be the best painter he could be. Things had started off exactly how he’d planned. The year he and Louis had lived together had been the year he’d painted his best work. There had been something about the feel of their tiny, shit little flat that had made inspiration come easily. His professors praised him and he’d even sold a few to private collectors.

But, when things had gone bad, when Louis had left, Harry had slumped. A lot of artists were at their very best creatively when they were feeling the worst emotionally, but Harry was not that kind of artist. His painting had always been an extension of who he wanted to present to the world, and when he hadn’t felt his best he didn’t want to share it with anyone. Depression had clouded Harry’s own artistic vision and he’d quickly slipped from artist to art appreciator. He wasn’t the person that Louis remembered.

“Really?” Louis said, tilting his head, “I’m surprised to hear that. I can’t imagine you not painting.”

“I think I just…ran out of the feelings I needed.”

Harry hoped he didn’t sound pathetic.

“I mean, I guess that makes sense. It’s hard to make art if you don’t feel what you need to feel. I’m sad to hear that, though. Your paintings were beautiful.”

Harry smiled, “thank you,” he pushed his hair out of his face with one hand before speaking again, “I mean, I’ve still done alright for myself. Turns out I’m actually really good at judging other people’s art.”

Louis laughed, “glad you found your niche, even if its rubbing shoulders with the elite.”

“And you? Teaching is your niche?”

Louis nodded, “yeah, my students like me. They think I’m funny. They’re always laughing, but I’m never quite sure if its because I’m funny or because I’m so old to them that they’re horrifically embarrassed at all times.”

“I’d say the ladder is the most likely.”

Louis laughed. It was musical.

Their drinks arrived before their food and they chatted about their favourite restaurants while they each sipped their coffee. Somewhere along the way the beat of Harry’s heart started to return to something at least sort of resembling normal. He forgot how easy it had been, even at Niall’s wedding, to talk to Louis. Now, though, he was a little bit more proud of his ability to carry on this conversation because there was no alcohol involved. There was nothing to numb the horror of the fact that he was sitting across the table from Louis.

At some point during their conversation their server had reappeared and delivered their food, but Harry had hardly paid attention. They had barely broken their conversation for more than a second. They were talking about light things, like the weather they’d been having, the wedding they’d both attended and their experiences in university. Harry told Louis stories about Scotland and about Gemma’s cat Olivia.

“So Gem never had any kids then?” Asked Louis.

Harry shook his head, “she loves kids and all, but I don’t think she ever really wanted to be a mum. She’s had the same boyfriend for like 12 years or something but they never got married. I think she’s just keen to do her own thing. Doesn’t really want to do what’s expected I guess.”

Louis nodded, pushing his eggs around on his plate. He didn’t look up from his plate of food when he spoke, “I think it’s really odd that you didn’t have kids.”

Harry felt something twist in his gut at the words. It hurt. An, old festering wound that hurt every time he thought about where he thought he might be by his mid thirties. Things were good…but he’d stepped so far off the path he always thought he’d be on.

“I mean…” Harry couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat. This conversation…with Louis of all people, it hit a nerve, “it’s kind of hard to have kids unless you have someone else willing to participate.”

Louis didn’t say anything. Just when things had started to feel less tense…now it was tense again. Harry probably should have cracked a joke. That might have made things easier.

“Well, it’s not too late, anyway. I’m sure you’ve still good a few good miles left in you,” Louis had finally spoken. His voice was light, but his eyes said that he felt the tension, too.

“Tell that to my mum.”

Louis smiled a half smile before shovelling another forkful of eggs into his mouth. Harry took a bite of his toast and they both chewed thoughtfully for a moment. Harry wanted the conversation to be steered in literally any other direction because poking at his short-comings and unmet plans kind of fucking sucked.

“So,” said Louis, folding his fingers together and placing them on the table. He had a cheeky smile on and he leaned slightly forward, “enquiring minds must know: do you spend a lot of time on Tinder?”

Harry sipped his latte and cracked a smile. Just like that, things were back to being easy again, “wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I mean, I asked the question, didn’t I?”

“Well, as it turns out, I am incredibly picky. I’ve matched with a good amount of guys, met a handful and liked approximately one.”

“Yet you stayed on, probably just hoping for the opportunity to be invited out to breakfast by your ex and be grilled about being childless. I commend your commitment. Glad things worked out for you.”

Harry snorted, “yeah alright. And what about you? You spending a lot of time going on Tinder dates?”

“I think you’d be utterly shocked to find out that being divorced and having a 5 year old is a turn of to the vast majority of people.”

“Shocking,” agreed Harry, “did you lead with telling them you’re a doctor?”

Louis laughed, “I have a doctorate, which is decidedly less appealing than being say, a surgeon, but thank you for the dating advice.”

Louis paid the bill. He’d just handed the waitress his card before she’d even given the option to split it. Of course that was very, _very_ helpful in Harry’s internal is-this-or-is-this-not-a-date debate. They walked out of the restaurant with just over a half hour to spare until Harry had to be at work. Louis offered to walk him there, which again was decidedly not helpful. They mostly talked about the parties they’d gone to during university and about the dingy pub by their tiny flat and about the bartender, Michael who knew them by name the entire time they'd lived there. They chatted so much that they created an entire a fictional scenario about what Michael might have gotten up to in the past 14 years. It was nice, actually. Like, properly nice. It was weird, Harry wouldn’t deny that, but it was a nice kind of weird.

When they arrived at the gallery Louis whistled suggestively, “fancy. Posh. I suppose the neighbourhood was a bit of a giveaway.”

Harry was holding his keys in his hand, “I mean, it’s not set up. I’m not finished deciding what to show, but do you want to come in and see? I’m really good at picking and hanging paintings.”

Why was Harry inviting Louis into his work place? Why would Louis say yes? What a weird and awkward creature Harry was.

But then Louis said “yes.”

“So, this is where I keep the contenders,” said Harry, flicking on the light that illuminated the rickety old stairs leading into the basement. He lead Louis into the storeroom which was temperature and humidity controlled and all around pretty fancy and made this room in the creepy basement a lot less creepy.

On the back wall was the painting that had inspired the collection that Harry was putting together. The painting was abstract in the same sort of strange way that Harry had once painted. He loved it. The colours were a mis-mash of blues. It reminded him of the painting he’d painted for one of his finals in first year. The painting had been his own swirling interpretation of Louis’ irises. It had sold for a couple hundred pounds and now whenever Harry thought about it he realized how much more it was worth. He would have given anything to have it again. It was a snapshot of the best part of his life then and there was no price tag that would be worth looking back on it. Whenever he found paintings that reminded him of it, Harry was torn between wanting to buy them and hoard them all, or like he was doing in this case, designing a whole show around them so that everyone could appreciate the feeling they conveyed.

Of course now Harry was face to face with the muse of that long lost painting. Louis’ eyes still glowed in the same way. There was still mystery there. There was still playfulness, mischief and whimsy. There was still kindness and intrigue and a boldness that Harry imagined would never die-down. Again, though, Harry was struck by the differences in their depths. There was a certainty that Harry didn’t remember. There was a tranquil sense of being, too. Louis was at peace in the world and in himself and it radiated. He’d always been radiant and beautiful and full of all the things that Harry had never even thought to want, but now his glow was enticing in a new way. Now it looked like safety, like a quiet warmth that Harry would never have imagined such deep blue eyes could convey. It was less about wanting to drown in his irises and more about wanting to bathe in their depths, to float in their warmth.

“Wow,” said Louis, making a beeline for the painting that had sent Harry on his wild internal tangent. “I guess you are good at this stuff.”

Harry lead Louis around the small room, moving around canvases and showing Louis his ideas. They were barely speaking, save from Harry’s explanation of the pieces he had chosen. It was an odd sense of calm, given how absolutely mental things were inside of Harry’s mind.

Before Harry had a chance to show Louis the last few pieces he’d been debating on, his alarm went off. He pulled out his phone and silenced it.

“Emily, my assistant, is going to be here any minute. I have to head up and let her in.”

Louis nodded, “well, I guess I’ll take my leave, then. Let you get to work. What time are you off tonight?”

Harry’s heart started to hammer in his chest. He usually left around 7 or 8, so he said as much.

“I’ll probably call you, later on, then.”

Not a question. Not that Harry minded. There was something that was on his mind though.

“So, you’re alone tonight?” Harry still felt something weird in his stomach when he thought about Harper, and about the life that he and Louis had never gotten.

“Yeah, it’s El’s week with Harper. She comes back Sunday.”

. . .

Harry snuck out of work early, around 5, unable to focus on anything to save his life. Saying goodbye to Louis at the gallery had been different than it had been at the wedding. While there were no sense of urgency, Louis still left quickly. Harry was partly grateful of that because he hadn’t quite sorted out what the appropriate sort of goodbye might have been. Louis had smiled and turned on his heel with a wave. He hadn’t lingered, and while Harry was probably going to read too far into that later, he was kind of glad that it had gone quickly. Harry hadn’t exactly worked out exactly how he would have explained to Emily who Louis was.

Harry had spent the majority of the day wandering the empty halls of the gallery and hanging paintings. His mind had been racing in every possible direction and all he could think about was Louis’ promise that he was going to call later. So Harry had dipped out early because the most reasonable way to rush the day along was to end it early.

Now, he was sat at his kitchen table, hoping to catch Niall before he got onto the tube. His timing must have been great because Niall answered after the first ring. He didn’t wait to hear what Niall had to say before he jumped down his throat.

“Louis asked you for my number and you didn’t give it to him?”

Niall laughed, “I’m guessing, given that you have this knowledge you’ve spoken to Louis.”

“What the hell, Niall! I spent two weeks feeling like absolute garbage and you didn’t think maybe I might have _wanted_ you to give him my number? Asshole.”

“Listen, Harry, I had no interest in getting involved. You guys were a mess. Everything was like a bomb went off when you guys broke up. You fell into this horrible depression and you’ve never been the same, okay? I didn’t want to stir things up. I didn’t want to make it worse for you.”

Harry huffed in annoyance because there wasn’t really anything he could say to that. Niall was just looking out for them both and Harry couldn’t really fault him for that. He was a good friend.

“We had breakfast.”

“I’m not trying to shit on your party, Harry, but I think it’s worth noting that maybe you should make sure you’re on the same page. I don’t know what you want to happen, but you should probably tell him.”

“I don’t care if we’re on the same page,” Harry admitted like the idiot he was, “I just want to like…be reading the same book. I’m just amazed he wants to talk to me at all.”

Niall let out a deep sigh, “I’m bowing out. I’m not getting stuck in the middle again. And you’re welcome, by the way, for the wedding and giving you the chance to see him.”

“Yeah and you’re welcome for the Nespresso.”

Niall laughed, “gotta get on the tube, mate. I’ll talk to you later. Be careful.”

…

It was half past eight and Harry was sorting through a box of half-dry paints he’d found the back of his closet. He’d been at it for a few hours. He’d also uncovered a few horrible half-finished canvases with smeared paint and strokes of rage. Harry hated that he couldn’t paint anymore. It was infinitely frustrating to remember exactly the movements he’d used to make but to be unable to reproduce them. Whatever it was that had been inside of him when he’d been younger, it had died. There was no sense of artistry left in Harry and admitting that to Louis earlier that day had just reopened that wound. It was so frustrating. He hated it. Had he completely lost the person he’d been? Was he actually just existing without really making anything of it?

He hated to look so pathetic. He was empty. His life was hollow and there was no true reason for his existence. He was just the shell of a person and he wished he knew how to make it more.

Before he could fall deeper into a pit of despair, he heard his phone ring.

_Fucking finally._

He dashed across the room to see Louis’ name on the screen.

“Hello?” He hoped his voice didn’t betray his existential crisis.

“So I’ve been giving it some thought and I really think you should put that painting of the crows into the show. I was really something.”

Harry grinned, “I hung it up today.”

“I knew I had an eye for art.”

Harry chuckled before laying back on his floor, staring up at his ceiling. There was an impossible grin on his face as he pressed his phone to his ear and listened for Louis’ voice.

“You know what I was thinking about earlier?”

“What?” Asked Harry, grin still plastered on his face.

“I was thinking about that time a few months after we first met. You and Niall went out and got piss drunk and then you showed up on my doorstep soaking wet and telling me you wanted to move to San Francisco.”

Louis was laughing and Harry’s heart clenched in his chest. He remembered that night. He’d been so sure that moving to San Francisco with Louis was the perfect idea. He remembered telling Niall he was heading home and instead walking to Louis’ dorm in the pouring rain. He’d shown up soaking wet and Louis hadn’t even protested when Harry had dragged him outside. He’d sang Louis some ridiculous song he’d made up on the spot about how their life would go ‘oh, down in San Francisco’. Louis had laughed along and twirled with him on the soaking wet grass and stopped him from falling on his ass at least 14 times. Louis had asked him if he was cold and Harry had said, no, he loved the rain. And then he’d sung another song about how much he loved the rain and had ended it by telling Louis he was like the rain. That he was beautiful and formative and that he brought life to the world. Harry had ended his rain speech by accidentally telling Louis he loved him. Louis had cried a little and told Harry he loved him, even when he was wet and soggy.

“I’m surprised, I guess, by how often you’re okay with talking about back then.”

Louis sighed, emotion heavy in his voice, “there were a lot of years where I felt like I couldn’t look back fondly, but fuck that. It was fun, what we had. I loved falling in love with you.”

Harry felt a tear roll down his face. God. How was he ever supposed to stop loving this man? His honesty was too much. It pierced Harry’s heart in all the best and worst ways. Harry didn’t think he could speak just yet. Not without giving away the fact that he was crying over the same person he’d been crying over for a decade and a half.

“I can stop talking about it, if you want.”

“No,” Harry’s voice broke on the world.

“Jesus, Styles,” said Louis, unable to just ignore anything, “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just…talking to you makes me think about it and I wish so much time hadn’t passed.”

“You didn’t make me cry,” Harry lied, even though he knew Louis wasn’t going to believe it. It was easier to lie and move the conversation elsewhere, “if all this time hadn’t passed…things would be different.”

“Yep,”

“I,” said Harry, leaving the world hanging in the air for too long.

“You what?” Pressed Louis.

“I’m…sad, or jealous or something,” he paused, trying to think of the right way to say what he needed to stay, “of your daughter. I’m…it’s a lot to process.” Harry felt another tear roll down his cheek, “I wanted to have kids with you.”

Compassion was thick in Louis’ voice. Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought that maybe Louis might have been on the verge of crying, too, “I wanted to have kids with you, too.”

“But I fucked it up.”

“You fucked it up,” confirmed Louis, but Harry could feel there was no bite to the words.

Harry got to his feet, breathing into the phone, “I need a drink, I’m pouring a glass of wine. Have a drink with me.”

“Ten steps ahead of you, Styles, I’m already on my second beer.”

“Good,” said Harry, as he filled his glass, “did you get any work done after breakfast?”

“Honestly?” Asked Louis, answering before Harry had a chance to ask him to continue, “I didn’t do anything productive today. I was thinking about you…about the paintings. About how you don’t paint anymore. I couldn’t make sense of it.”

Harry looked over the pile of art supplies he’d been sorting through. It was sad that he couldn’t even do the only thing ever used to be good at. “I might try again, soon.”

“I think you should,” said Louis, “you can paint me something. My house is tragically bachelor. I mean I don’t have a Scarface poster or anything, but I’m close to being as sad as most of the losers you’ve probably met on Tinder. There’s no art to speak of.”

“What about your refrigerator?”

Louis chuckled, “well, yeah, that’s covered in crayon masterpieces, but that’s a given. It’s part of the gig.”

Harry chuckled despite the way his chest clenched when they spoke about her. He wasn’t being fair, but feelings were rarely rational. He knew he should be better than to be jealous of a five-year-old child. A subject change was more than called for, “d’you think Niall and Sarah are going to have kids soon?”

“Judging by the way Sarah looks at Harper, next week I’d reckon.”

Harry laughed, but it felt like there was a knife in his gut at his pictured Niall and Sarah hanging out with Louis’ daughter. It was irrational how jealous he was of everyone that got to be near Louis. He wanted Louis to himself, and the fact that everyone else had had him all these years made his chest hurt.

“Harry?” Louis’ voice was almost a whisper now, “I really want to see you again.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush and his stomach fill with nerves. It was so silly. “I would really like that.”

_Don’t read too much into it._

Harry repeated the mantra in his head while he listened for Louis’ response.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

…

Harry was sitting at his desk staring at his computer, trying to finalize the details for the art show coming up next weekend. The caterers and him had been back and forth a few times and he was kind of over it and probably should have passed the job o to Emily, but he was also too distracted to think about anything other than amuse bouches. He was staring at his phone and kept checking to make sure it wasn’t on silent because it hadn’t rang since last night and that was many, many levels of disappointing. He knew, obviously, that Louis had a life and a child and a job and he couldn’t spend every spare second calling Harry, but a guy could dream, okay?

He started to tap out an email, sending estimates of how many bottles of champagne they would need for the party when he heard a knock on his office door. He looked up to see Emily.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asked, trying not to give away just how little work he was getting done.

“Someone’s here to see you.”

Harry groaned, he was not in the mood to deal with people. He pouted up at Emily, “please, can you deal with them? You have full reign to do whatever I would do.”

“He said his name is Louis, and he seems like he came to see you, not me.”

“Shit,” said Harry, fumbling to his feet and dashing down to the main floor.

There, in the front doorway stood Louis. He was holding two cups of ice cream in his hands and had an easy smile on his face. When Harry got close enough, Louis handed him one of the cups.

“What’s this?” Asked Harry, smiling a big dumb grin he couldn’t contain, because Louis had surprised him at his work! This was a big deal.

“Well, my plan was to bring you lunch, but I got trapped at work a bit later than I anticipated and it’s like a million degrees out, so I thought gelato was the next best thing.”

Harry looked down into the cup at the pink gelato. Strawberry. His favourite. 14 years later and Louis hadn’t forgotten the little things. Harry’s stomach twirled and his insides felt pleasantly warm.

“This is brilliant,” he said, lifting a spoonful to his mouth. It tasted amazing, but then again maybe it was just the sentiment surrounding the gelato and not the gelato itself. Harry couldn’t be sure.

“How about a walk?” Asked louis, his eyes hopeful, “think your boss will allow it?”

Harry scratched his chin with his free hand, smiling at Louis, “I like your odds,” he said before turning to look at Emily. He leaned over the front desk and grinned at her, “mind holding down the fort? Maybe if you get a chance can you email the caterer for next weekend?”

She nodded, “of course, Harry.”

“Thank you,” he said before leading Louis out into the sunshine. It was 2:30 in the afternoon and the sun was shining bright and it was absolutely the perfect June day that Harry could not have written up if he’d tried.

Best of all? Louis was standing beside him.

“Where to?” Harry asked.

“Let’s just wander, see what kind of trouble we can find.” Said Louis, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

Harry giggled as he took a bite of his gelato, “this was a really nice idea, Lou. Thanks.”

Louis smiled, cheeks taking on a pink hue, and oh? Harry didn’t think Louis could succumb to such mortal plights as blushing, “you’re getting more comfortable,” Louis said, taking a bite of his chocolate gelato.

“Why do you say that?”

“You called me Lou, like you used to.”

Harry’s face flushed at that. He hoped Louis would blame the chill from the gelato, “is that okay?”

Louis beamed. He actually beamed and Harry felt pretty sure there was no way he could have made that up, “it’s more than okay.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, each eating their gelato and enjoying the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The streets were not very busy and Harry guessed most people were probably in their gardens or on park benches soaking up as much vitamin D as possible.

“Is it good?” Louis asked when he was done with their silence.

Harry nodded, it’s great. Thank you.”

“So I made a good choice?”

“Strawberry is my favourite.”

Louis sighed and it sounded like he was content. Harry thought maybe he could cry again with that knowledge, “you haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” said Harry, pointing at the chocolate in Louis cup.

“It’s like, the whole world has changed, everything in our lives has changed, but we’re still the same,” Louis sounded thoughtful.

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Harry was surprised at his bravery.

“Mm,” agreed Louis, spoon in his mouth.

Again, they were quiet. It was a companionable silence, one that didn’t leave Harry’s mind racing it 16 different directions. Instead, he just watched as Louis walked forward, black trainers kicking rocks as he moved along, still refusing to lift his feet, just as he always had. It was how Harry had always known when he was coming. He’d once been so attuned to Louis’ mannerisms, and it was comforting to know that a lot of Louis was just the same.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asked.

Louis hummed his permission as he reached over and sunk his spoon into Harry’s ice cream, grin on his face. The act was so intimate that it made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up. He laughed, trying not to let Louis know how nervous he made him.

“Why did you and Eleanor get divorced?”

“Loaded question,” Louis pointed out, but Harry just shrugged. The calm between them didn’t seem disturbed as Louis put the spoonful of Harry’s gelato into his mouth. Harry decided to be brave. He reached out and stole a spoonful of Louis’ ice cream.

“Mmm,” he said as he put it in his mouth and they both laughed.

God, things just felt so normal between them. People that passed them by probably thought they were old friends who had never missed a beat. Harry kind of liked that idea. There had been a time in his life where he’d been so sure that everyone in the world could read his mistakes on his face, but it didn’t feel like that in this moment.

“Things between El and I changed after Harper was born, or at least it felt like that to me. We stopped talking about anything else that didn’t have to do with Harper. We stopped checking in with each other. We stopped communicating or really caring about each other’s lives. It was weird. We were just existing in the same house, sleeping in the same bed but there was nothing that felt like a marriage about it.” Louis paused his story to meet Harry’s eyes, “and she wanted to try for another baby and I just didn’t think it was a good idea with how things were between us. I think she kind of resented me after that. We drifted even further apart until one day she told me she’d found a place and she didn’t think we should be together if we didn’t want the same things anymore. I agreed. It was I guess just a testament to how wrong we were for each other that it didn’t even hurt me. I didn’t even have any fight in me over it. I just wanted to make sure we did what was right by Harper.”

Harry had a strange feeling in his gut, but he pressed on because he had to know, “did you love her?”

Louis laughed a bit at the question, setting Harry’s heart at ease. “Did you love Martin?” He countered.

“Yeah, but—“

“It wasn’t the same,” Louis said, bumping his shoulder teasingly into Harry’s.

He knew. He knew everything Harry was feeling and a part of Harry was horrified that he was so transparent, and yet a part of him, the more primal part that instinctually connected to Louis, expected nothing less. Louis had always known him and he’d never, ever made Harry feel bad about the way he felt. Louis had accepted him and known him in a way Harry didn’t think anyone had since.

“It was the same for me and Eleanor. I think I’ll always love her, because like, she gave me something really great. She’s a great mum to Harper and I’ll always have to respect that. She’ll always have a place in my heart and my life, but it wasn’t the same, and I know that’s what you’re asking. I think if I learned anything in the last decade or so it’s that there’s definitely more than one kind of love out there. It’s definitely possible to love other people and to be okay with that.”

Harry was just stirring his gelato now, watching it melt as he shuffled next to Louis, trying not to look at him. He didn’t know how they kept ending up here, in these places that hurt so bad. Harry didn’t want Louis to love someone else, that was the problem.

“I don’t think, though, that it can ever be the same as the first time,” Louis’ voice had dropped and he was much more quiet now, but still Harry couldn’t read him. A part of Harry still felt like Louis was just looking to clear the air. Like he was just looking to being on good terms, and if all this time with Louis the past couple of days had taught him anything it was that it wasn’t enough. Harry didn’t want to be Louis’ friend.

They were silent again, shuffling along the quiet street. Harry hadn’t loved Martin, or anyone else, the way he’d loved Louis. It had never been the same, and that told him something. Sure, if he and Louis had never spoken again? He’d probably be fine. He’d probably have settled down with someone else and maybe even loved them in that different sort of way. But that wasn’t something he could entertain now because Louis was right beside him. They hung out, they talked on the phone and how on earth could Harry ever try to feel anything for someone else while that was happening? Louis was taking up all of his focus. They rounded a corner onto a quiet and carless cobblestone street, still not speaking. Harry was scared to say the wrong thing. He was afraid to talk about the way he’d loved Louis for fear that Louis would realize that it wasn’t past-tense.

Louis couldn’t stand silence, though, so after a few tense moments, he broke then tension with the most absurd question Harry could have imagined.

“You talk to Grimshaw at all?”

Harry’s head whipped back up and he gawked at Louis for a second like he had two heads. Before he could open his mouth to say just how much he _did not_ talk to Nick Fucking Grimshaw, his foot caught on a cobblestone and he stumbled to catch himself. He didn’t hit the ground, but his gelato did. Louis reached out to grab Harry’s arm and steady him, laughter pouring from his mouth.

“Jesus, Styles, hold it together, would ya?” Said Louis. They were standing still now, Harry embarrassed and ice-creamless and Louis laughing harder than the situation warranted, “here,” he said shoving his gelato into Harrys hands, “I’m done anyway.”

Why was there just a constant undercurrent inside of Harry that just wanted to cry for every small gesture that Louis made? It was so dumb. Just a small little thing. He’d given Harry the rest of his ice cream because Harry had dropped his and Harry wanted to break down over it. Louis was so kind, so patient and so much the same as he’d always been. Harry didn’t realize just how much he’d missed him all these years. There really was no equivalent.

Louis bent over and picked up the paper cup from Harry’s gelato and started walking toward the bin a few metres away. Harry followed slowly, a strange feeling still in his stomach as he looked down at Louis’ gelato in his hands. He eventually caught up to Louis, who clapped him on the arm gently.

“It’s just gelato, Harry. It’s not the end of the world,” his tone was light and Harry didn’t want this day to end. He was completely defenceless. Louis owned him.

“But, I mean, that’s one way to avoid a question,” Louis chucked to himself as they started to walk forward again.

“I wasn’t avoiding,” sighed Harry, “I just—do you really think I’d keep talking to him?”

Louis sighed, and there was some sort of something behind the gesture…vulnerability? Harry couldn’t be sure.

“I haven’t spoken to him in 14 years, Louis.”

Louis nodded, “I had a feeling you hadn’t, but enquiring minds, you know.”

“I didn’t…” Harry huffed, letting out a hard chuckle, “like, want to be with him. I didn’t want to be with anyone after you. Not for a long time.”

Louis nodded, “funny, because I wanted to be with anyone _but_ you, just to prove to myself that I could.”

Louis said the words with a laugh, but Harry didn’t feel the humour. It hurt. He had hurt Louis and there was no way he could go back and make the right decision.

“You know, the part I never understood, though?” Said Louis, voice thoughtful, “why did you tell me? You could have just pretended that it never happened and I never would have known.”

“I’m not a liar, Louis,” said Harry. The one redeemable thing he’d done was come clean.

“Yeah, but, it would have been easier. I kind of wish I’d never known because all those years or soul-searching? I could have done without them, if I’m honest. I think we probably would have stayed together a long time.”

“I wanted that,” said Harry quietly, “but not if I meant I had to keep something from you.”

“Damn you for being admirable.”

Harry snorted, “nothing about me at 20 was admirable, you knob.”

Louis laughed and tugged Harry to a halt, “I should get you back to work before your assistant thinks I’m a bad influence.”

And with that, they turned around, walking back to Harry's work, the conversation abandoned for now. 

…

It was half 5 on Thursday and Harry’s phone was full of a growing string of text messages with Louis. He was wandering the gallery, trying to get a visual for what he was going to fill the last few empty spaces with, but he was mostly listening for the tell-tale ping of a text message. His friends and family rarely texted him during the week, so the sounds almost exclusively meant that Louis was texting. Harry had no real reason to hope that he might see Louis today, other than the fact that he’d seen him Tuesday and Wednesday consecutively.

Louis was probably busy, though, and Harry respected that. He was working on a big paper and had been in his office most of the day. Harry could respect that, but it didn’t stop that little part of him that was still hopeful.

And the fact that they’d basically spoken about every difficult and painful thing that had happened between them and they were _still_ finding reasons to text? That was reassuring. Harry felt a little glimmer of hope inside of his chest about what the future could hold for them. He wanted to cling to it. To press the hope to his chest and not let it go, because whatever the future brought, he knew that if he was lucky enough to have Louis a part of it, it would be okay. Wherever they ended up would be acceptable as long as Louis kept talking to him.

Harry wandered down to the storage room and started searching through the paintings down there. He started humming along to the Fleetwood Mac song on the radio and shaking his hips. He pulled out two of his own paintings he kept in the back of the room. He’d never been able to part with either of them, but he rarely felt interested in seeing them. Even back in Glasgow he’d kept them buried in the gallery he’d worked at.

The first painting was the one that Harry had painted the day after he and Louis had moved in together. It was bright and sunny, painted to represent Louis’ spirit. He could see the love on the canvas, preserved in acrylic for all these years. Harry had never been happier than when he had painted that piece. It had represented the best part of his life and never felt right with the idea of parting with it. He’d never had a choice but to keep it, even if that meant he kept it hidden away where he nor anyone else could ever really see it.

The second painting was the one that Harry had painted in the middle of the night after Louis had moved out of their flat. He’d painted it by only the lamp light in the bedroom they’d once shared. Upon its completion, Harry had stood back and took it in. It had been beautiful. Harry was big enough to be able to admit that he had certainly known how to paint. What had struck him the most, though, was the pain behind the strokes. The colours were a stark contrast against the other painting. When he had had finished this one, it was the moment he’d realized that he couldn’t keep painting in his sadness. It had been too much to look at his innards spread across the canvas. He was ashamed of the things he’d done that had caused him this pain and he couldn’t let the world see it.

So he’d mostly stopped painting. He’d finished his degrees and had backed off of touching the canvases with his own feelings. He was haunted. Maybe anyone who cared to look could see that, and maybe that’s why he’d had such a hard time finding a partner. Maybe Martin had sensed that he’d never live up to the expectation that Louis had set of all men. Maybe that’s why he’d never let himself care for Harry the way that Harry had insisted he wanted.

He was deep in thought when he heard someone clear his throat behind him. Harry jumped in his skin, turning to see Louis at the doorway. His heart skipped about 10 beats before he remembered to smile and greet him.

“Lou,” he said, reaching out to the stereo to turn down Stevie Nicks’ voice, “you scared the shit out of me. How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to see you contemplating your reason for existence,” said Louis, voice light like it tended to be during their conversations. He walked over to where Harry was standing and eyed the paintings, “I remember that one,” he said, pointing to the first painting, “you were so good.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush, “thanks, Lou. I can’t believe you remember it.”

“Are you kidding?” He said, “I was your biggest fan. All those other kids in your classes? Amateurs.”

Harry laughed.

“Is this one yours, too?” Louis asked pointing to the swirl of darkness that made Harry remember just how hollow his chest had been the day Louis had left.

Harry nodded, not really caring to explain it.

“Ah,” said Louis, perceptive as ever, “this is from your post-Louis phase, isn’t it? The dark period.”

It had all been a dark period, if Harry was honest. Up until 2 and half weeks ago. He wanted to say as much, but instead he just gave a small chuckle and a nod.

“I mean…it’s beautiful, I don’t think you ever painted anything that wasn’t, but I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”

The apology felt genuine, which meant that Harry had been right to hide his work from others all this time, because it was quite transparent. His sadness was spread across the canvas and Louis could see it and it made Harry uneasy. He quickly grabbed both pieces and shoved them back into their dark hiding spot. He felt Louis pinch his arm.

“Ow,” whined Harry, turning around to see a serious look on Louis’ face.

“You were thinking about me. That’s why you pulled those out. I think you know as well as I do that you can’t just hide your feelings in some storage closet and hope that keeps them away. Talk to me.”

Harry fought to hold back tears, that empty feeling was still haunting his chest cavity, “I missed you. All the time. I didn’t really want to admit that to myself, but obviously my hoarding tendencies give it away.”

Louis nodded, reaching out to rub Harry’s arm a couple of times. The gesture was small, but genuine and really, it wasn’t helping Harry’s emotional turmoil that Louis was touching him.

“I missed you, too. Hell, I missed you last night when we got off the phone up until I got here and saw you shaking your ass to Steve Nicks.”

Harry made a hiccuping sort of strangled sound. Maybe it was a laugh, maybe it was a sob. He couldn’t be sure. He barely even cared that Louis had seen him dancing, because he was too hung up on the fact that Louis said he missed him. He coughed to cover it up, “you weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Hey,” said Louis, brushing Harry’s fringe out of his eyes, not ready to let their moment dissolve into humour. A ball of ice materialized in Harry’s stomach as he tried to keep himself from nuzzling his face into Louis’ hand like muscle memory told him to do, “don’t cry, okay? Let’s just skip out on work for the rest of the day. I found this tapas bar on my way over. Let’s go sit on the roof, eat too much calamari and drink sangria until you can’t possibly be sad anymore, okay?”

A god damn tear betrayed Harry and he felt it fall down his cheek. He’d tried so hard to stop it, but there it was, out in the open for Louis to see. He turned his head quickly, wiping it away and hiding his face from Louis. Fuck. _Fucking fuck._ Honestly. Why wasn’t he able to hold it the fuck together?

“Was it something I said?” Louis’ voice was trying to mask concern with humour.

Harry sucked in a deep breath. He could do this. He could just take whatever it was that Louis was offering him and be okay with it. He wasn’t sure why he was spending his time crying about the time that had already passed when Louis was standing right there in front of him, asking him to take off from work and hang out with him for the third day in a row.

“Yeah, it was something you said,” Harry hoped his voice sounded lighter. He hoped his attempted humour would come across as charming and not pathetic.

“Oh yeah?” Said Louis, “was it the part where I complimented your fantastic artwork or the part where I said I saw you dancing?”

“You said you missed me.”

“Ah,” said Louis, “and I suppose that made you sad because you’re already getting sick of me. Guess I should go get tapas for one, then?”

Harry snorted, feeling more like himself. He dared to turn around and look at Louis again, “I just—“ Harry felt awkward trying to bare his soul in the middle of Louis’ joke, but this is how it had always been. They joked, they bantered, but beneath it all there was truths that they’d always only saved for each other, “I really did miss you. Seeing you is only just making me realize how badly.”

Louis grabbed Harry’s hand, pulling him out of the storage room, “come on then, you can’t say no to me with an admission like that.”

…

Louis reached across the tiny table and filled Harry’s glass from the pitcher of sangria that had just arrived at their table. Harry had let Emily head out early and locked up for the day. The moment that Louis had shown up, he’d known that he wasn’t going to get anymore work done for the day and he was more than okay with it. It wasn’t until the bids started to come in after the party next weekend that the real paperwork started. Harry was in the clear for now.

Harry was also feeling a lot more like himself. Perhaps the distance from the dark basement and the dark painting that it held, helped. The sun was shining and they still had many more hours of daylight and Harry kind of wanted to waste all of those hours on this roof with Louis.

“I can’t believe you’re getting me day drunk,” Harry said with a chuckle.

“It’s 4, it’s the evening now. This is perfectly reasonable in my opinion.”

Harry smiled, and Louis smiled. Harry watched the crinkles at the sides of Louis’ eyes and he wanted so badly to touch them with the pads of his fingers. Louis was so much the same, but Harry wanted to memorize all the new parts, too.

Louis was doing his very best to keep the conversation light after the disaster in the basement, “where is your flat, anyway?”

“Camden. It’s a shoebox. I can practically open my fridge without getting out of bed.”

Louis laughed, “sounds like the ultimate place to be on a lazy Sunday.”

“I mean, I manage. Ideally, I’d like to stop renting but London is a bit impossible. I don’t really want to leave again, though, so I’ll stick with my shoebox for now.”

“I’ve got a place in Hackney,” said Louis and _yes._ He was close, “I bought it during the divorce. I wanted at least to have something stable for Harper after all the shit we were putting her though,” Harry sensed the guilt behind the admission, “It’s a duplex. I rent out the upstairs to an elderly couple.”

“Sounds lovely,” Harry said, not wanting to admit just how much he wished he knew what it looked like. He couldn’t believe how close Louis was after all this time.

Louis nodded and picked up his own glass of sangria, taking a long sip. He looked like he was contemplating something. Perhaps he was going over Harry’s ridiculous breakdown back at that gallery and realizing just how much he didn’t want to keep dealing with Harry’s bullshit. Harry hoped he was misreading that, but to anyone looking on, it was probably painfully obvious how much more Harry cared than Louis.

“I need to ask you something before we have a second drink so you can’t accuse me of being drunk.”

Harry felt his stomach clench. He gripped his glass of sangria so tight he was surprised the glass didn’t shatter. He didn’t know what Louis was going to say, but he felt pretty certain he wasn’t ready for it.

“Saturday, one of my colleagues from the psych department is getting married. I have a plus one and I would really like if you came with me.”

Well, that wasn’t what Harry had been expecting whatsoever. He’s expected the sky to fall, but instead there was another invitation. Harry didn’t know what to say.

“It’s at some fancy mansion and the food is bound to be good. It’s open bar, too, so you can get proper pissed if you don’t feel like hanging out with a bunch of stuffy psychologists.”

Harry couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, “so, Saturday? As in two days from now?”

“Yeah. Short notice, I know. I blame Niall. I might have had the chance to ask sooner if he hadn’t gone to fucking Tuscany and refused to give me your bloody number,” Louis paused, taking another sip of his drink, “plus, the way I figure it, I owe you for the last wedding we went to.”

Harry’s smile hadn’t fallen off his face, “so you don’t want to take Lottie this time?”

Louis snorted, “the little lush is officially off all guest lists until she can sort herself out.”

“What about tomorrow?” Asked Harry, voice low. He couldn’t take his eyes off Louis. The sun way illuminating him just so, his warm skin glowing and his eyes sparkling in all the best ways.

Louis raised an eyebrow, “I don’t know, what about tomorrow?”

“Well, today is Thursday and you’re inviting me out Saturday. That leaves a whole day in between.”

“Ah,” said Louis, leaning back in his chair, visibly more comfortable, “I suppose it’s my own fault, I’ve set an expectation, haven’t I? Inviting you out every day this week. What about late dinner? If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that this red wine is going to knock me on my ass for the day tomorrow. I probably won’t even make it to the office.” Louis took another long sip of the sangria, proving he was throwing caution to the wind.

Yes. _Yes, yes, yes._ Harry didn’t know how he was doing it, but he’d convinced Louis to see him another day that week. That would be five consecutive days. Not that Harry was counting.

Harry sipped his own drink, eyes on Louis, “what colour is your suit?”

Louis laughed, “so its a yes then? You’ll come hang out with my stuffy professor friends as long as you can co-ordinate with me?”

Harry nodded, smiling from behind his glass.

…

Friday came late. Mostly because Harry kept waking up and feeling the pounding in his head and had opted not to move a muscle until he wanted to die less.

Unfortunately, though, Harry’s bladder had eventually woken him up and he couldn’t really argue it. Sitting up was a task. His head throbbed. What in the fuck had he been thinking? This is what red wine did to him. Every bloody time, but fucking sangria and Louis had lured him in. They’d eaten and chatted, mostly teasing each other for the majority of the night. It had been nice, but they’d certainly had way too many drinks.

Harry glanced at his phone before he walked the the washroom. It was nearly 11 and there was one text from Louis. He opened it as he trotted toward the bathroom.

**_Louis:_ ** _I’m dying. Don’t send help. I don’t want you to see me like this._

Harry laughed, but didn’t answer. He crawled back into his bed, stifling the urge to throw up and fell asleep for another couple of hours.

The next time he woke up, he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He wasn’t 20 anymore. That much was clear. His head throbbed as he made his way back into his bed. He curled up in his blankets and fell back to sleep.

He woke up twice more and threw up every sip of water he’d managed throughout the day. It was hot outside and his flat didn’t have air con, but he stayed wrapped up in his blankets because it was the only comfort he could find. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hungover and he was grateful through the pain that he’d decided not to drag himself into work. Emily, or heaven’s forbid, any of the general public, did not need to see him like this.

Around 2 in the afternoon he took two Paracetamols before resigning to sleep again and hope the world was back to normal by the next time he woke up.

Harry opened his eyes when he heard his phone ringing. The clock above his bed said that it was half 5 and _fuck_. He’d practically begged Louis to hang out with him today. Sure enough, when he picked up his phone he saw Louis’ name. He quickly pressed answer, impressed that he’d been awake for a full 5 seconds and didn’t feel like he was going to puke. He didn’t say a word.

“I’m on my way to your flat. I’m bringing pizza and I still kind of want to die,” Louis announced.

_He was coming to Harry’s place?_

Fucking hell. Harry was so fucked. Louis was about to see him in a right fucking state and he wasn’t sure that he could even keep down the pizza. His track record so far was that he’d managed to keep down 2 Paracetamol and 4 sips of water. That didn’t bode too well for his future.

“Judging by the fact that I haven’t heard a word from you today, I’m guessing you aren’t in much better shape.”

“‘M fine,” Harry lied, sitting up. He needed to shower because he smelled like wine and probably puke and it wasn’t going to be cute when Louis rolled in with pizza in hand and Harry was rotting in his own filth, “call me when you get here. I have to shower.”

Louis chuckled like he knew that Harry was lying, but he allowed it.

Harry threw up twice in the shower, which obviously was perfect. Par for the course because he couldn’t seem to ever have his shit together when he was about to face Louis. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and brushed his teeth for the millionth time that day. He stared at himself in the mirror and despite the fact that he’d spent the entire day in bed he had heavy dark circles under his eyes. Great. He looked a right fucking state. Perfect time to have Louis fucking Tomlinson, the love of his bloody life, over to his flat. He had’t even tidied. He couldn’t summon the energy. Plus this whole thing was Louis’ fault. He was the one who lured him out with sangria in the first place.

He heard his phone ring and fuck. Great. Louis was here and he was barely 5 minutes out from the last time he’d thrown up. Fuck the world. He rushed to fix the blankets on his bed to at least make it look like he hadn’t been laying there all day.

He mumbled his unit number into the phone and buzzed Louis up. He dared to look in the mirror one last time. At least he was clean. He put on some deodorant and heard a knock at the door. He opened it and there was Louis.

Louis’ hair was wet and he hadn’t shaved. His scruffy cheeks were a ridiculous amount of tantalizing to Harry and it was in that moment he remembered that this was a part of his hangover schedule. Puke his guts out, start to feel better and then get a stupid amount of horny. Great. Louis was all he fucking needed right now.

Louis was holding a pizza box and a grocery bag. The smell of the pizza hit Harry and he realized he was starving. Louis handed him the pizza box and looked around at Harry’s tiny flat. Harry stepped to the side and let Louis in. Louis was wearing joggers and a hoodie and he looked so…good. Just comfortable and inviting and suddenly Harry wasn’t so upset that he’d been dragged out of his bed. As Louis walked past Harry got a whiff of his body wash and Harry just wanted to hug him. He just wanted to wrap himself in Louis and feel comforted and human.

“You’re pale as hell, you’ve been throwing up, haven’t you?” Louis wore a wicked grin as he asked the question, knowing damn well he knew the answer.

“I think I had some bad crab,” said Harry, sealing his lips shut so his smile wasn’t visible.

Louis cackled, “you didn’t eat any crab,” he countered, “you did, however, drink an entire pitcher of sangria.”

“Please do not come into my home and use the word sangria.”

Louis laughed and reached into the bag he was holding. He produced a yellow gatorade and handed it to Harry. He remembered all the stupid little things, like the fact that yellow was Harry's favourite gatorade, “I had a feeling you felt like shit. I too, am not as young as I once was. Hangovers are a full day-long event now. Do you have Netflix? I feel like Netflix, Gatorade and pizza might be the only thing that could cure us.”

If Harry had have been willing to sacrifice on location, maybe he would have had a couch to sit on when he had guests over, but no. Harry hadn’t been willing to take a long tube ride to work, so here he was, sitting on his bed next to his ex-boyfriend with only a pizza box between them as they watched Netflix and barely spoke. Maybe Louis had realized how awkward it was to be sat in bed with Harry, or maybe he really did just feel like shit.

About an hour into the move _Ibiza,_ Louis had fallen asleep. Harry remembered being young and drinking too much with Louis. He coped the same way that Harry did. They’d napped away most of the day and it made his insides twist to look over and see Louis asleep on his bed. Harry moved the pizza box over to his side table, clearing the space between him.

He could smell Louis, his shampoo, his body wash and that underlying and unmistakably ‘Louis’ scent. He wanted to touch him, not in a creepy way. He just wanted to run his fingers across his jawline and feel the scratch of his unshaven face. Maybe run his fingers through his hair. Not creepy, just…he wanted to remember. He wanted to remember how it had been to share a bed with Louis and feel so close to him. He eyed the pillow Louis was using with jealousy. He wished there was a way to cross the divide between him which was now void of pizza, but still most definitely a divide.

He listened to Louis’ soft breathing and closed his eyes. He felt sleep tugging at his eyelids as the movie continued to play in the background.

When Harry woke again it was to a ringtone that wasn’t his. He looked at his own phone and saw that it was 7:45. They’d been asleep for awhile. The credits to the movie had ended and the Netflix logo was paused on his TV. He looked over to the other side of the bed and saw Louis rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. He reached out to grab his phone and met Harry’s eyes.

“I have to take this one,” he said quietly.

Harry nodded, expecting Louis to leave the room and step into the hallway for some privacy. But he didn’t.

“Hello gorgeous,” he said, placing the phone to his ear.

Harry opened up his Instagram and sat up in the bed, trying to make it look like he wasn’t paying attention to Louis. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Louis’ smile built on his face.

“How come you’re still awake? I think bed time was awhile ago, missy. Are you being good for mummy and Jonathan?”

Harry was trying not to listen, he really was, but who was Jonathan?

“You don’t feel like sleeping, eh?” Said Louis, and the softness in his voice made the hairs on Harry’s entire body stand on end.

Why did it have to be every small part of Louis that was the biggest turn on in the universe? Surely mother nature, or god, or whoever it was that created people had gone way overboard with Louis. They’d given him too much and it wasn’t fair for mere mortals like Harry. It only made sense that Louis would be great at being a dad, but what struck Harry the most was the way it made _him_ feel. Harry longed to watch Louis be a parent and it stirred an urge inside of him that woke his own desire to be a dad. Fucking hell. Louis was impossible.

“How about I tell you a story?” Louis asked, “put me on speaker and get comfy, okay?”

Louis chuckled and Harry couldn’t stop himself. His hand darted out and he ran his knuckles across the only skin he could find, the back of Louis’ hand. Louis turned to him then and he was pretty fucking certain that he’d crossed a boundary. Instead though, Louis gave him a soft smile, covering the microphone on his phone with his hand, “you can listen to the story, too,” he said with a wink.

Harry smiled, pulling his covers tight around his neck and snuggling into his pillow, his eyes on Louis. Louis gave him a crooked grin before he started to speak again.

“Okay, are you comfy now?” He listened and Harry could hear a tiny voice on the other end of the phone. He didn’t feel like processing the longing that started in his heart. There was a reason he wasn’t sharing this responsibility with Louis. He would do well to remind himself of that.

“Once upon a time,” Louis announced grandly, looking down at Harry as he spoke, “there was a fair maiden named Harriet,” Louis winked as Harry covered his mouth to hide his chuckle. “Now, there’s something you should know about Harriet. She loved grape juice. She loved grape juice so much that one day she decided that she didn’t want to eat food anymore. All she wanted was to drink grape juice. So she drank glass after glass after glass until her tummy hurt. Her tummy hurt so bad that she had to go to bed for the rest of the day because she couldn’t play anymore,” Louis nudged Harry’s foot with his foot and smiled a big dopey smile, “Harriet’s mummy came and found her and asked her ‘Harriet, oh sweet Harriet, please won’t you tell your mummy? What is it you’ve done to have such a bad tummy?’” Harry snorted with laughter and Louis held his finger to his lips to silence him. He pulled the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker. Harry immediately heard a tiny voice laughing. He felt his stomach flip. He’d never even met the kid. There was no reason that he should feel so…affected by that little laugh.

Louis pressed on, phone still on speaker, “and Harper, do you know what Harriet told her mummy about why she had an ache in her tummy?”

Another tiny laugh, “nope.”

“Well, she looked at her mom square in the eye and said, 'mummy it’s really nothing too bad, I think that maybe I just ate some bad crab!'”

Harper erupted into a fit of laughter and squealed “daddy! You’re so silly!”

“Daddy isn’t silly,” Louis argued, switching off speaker and pressing the phone back to his ear, “I know Harriet, it’s a true story. Too much grape juice gives you a tummy ache. Now, you’ve had your story. Give the phone back to mummy and try to get some sleep.”

“How many more sleeps until I come back to your house?” Harry could still hear her voice and the longing there. Of course she’d want to be close to him. Harry couldn’t blame her.

“Two more sleeps, okay baby? Two more sleeps and then its pancake dinner Sunday. Be good for mummy and Jonathan, okay? I love you.”

“Love you daddy.”

There was some shuffling before Harry heard a woman’s voice on the phone. She mumbled something to Louis that Harry couldn’t quite make out.

“No problem,” said Louis, “text me Sunday when you’re on your way over. Cheers.”

Louis hung up the phone and turned to look at Harry. He shuffled back down the bed, resting his head on the pillow, eyes still on Harry. “Sorry about that.”

“About interrupting my nap or using me as a cautionary tale?”

Louis smiled, a tired, lazy smile, “interrupting your nap. Someone should learn from your mistakes, because you clearly aren’t.”

Harry stuck out his tongue, eyes still locked with Louis’. There was something heavy in the air, but Harry was pretty sure he was the only one feeling it. This whole napping and eating pizza in bed while hungover with his ex-boyfriend thing probably only felt weird to Harry because he so desperately wanted it to be more.

“Who’s Jonathan?” Harry asked as an attempt to cut the tension he was feeling.

Louis relaxed, running a hand through his fringe, “El’s husband. He’s a dentist.”

“She’s married?” Harry asked, somehow he didn’t expect it. How could someone let Louis slip through their fingers and then just go on to live a new life so quickly? It didn’t make much sense.

Louis nodded slowly, “yeah, they got married last year. He’s a nice guy. He’s good to Harper but holy fuck he’s boring.”

Harry laughed, “she moves fast.”

Louis shrugged, reaching out to brush Harry’s hair from his face, “she’s driven by her biological clock. Tick, tick, tick.”

“Me too,” mumbled Harry, thinking about how the yearning in his chest had subsided at the sound of Harper’s laugh.

After over-hearing 5 minutes of Louis parenting, Harry was dying to see her. He was dying to feel connected to that part of Louis. The tone of his voice, the way he hadn’t hesitated to come up with a story to tell her. He was good at it. He’d clearly been good at it all along, judging by the adoration in Harper’s voice.

Louis didn’t say anything to Harry’s statement, probably because it was weird as fuck to be laying in a bed with your ex who was very obviously harbouring feelings for you and have them talk about their biological clock. Harry really needed to get it together.

Louis picked up the remote, “let’s watch another movie,” he said.

Harry hummed his agreement and then felt his heart stop as Louis’ left hand latched onto Harry’s right. Louis fed his fingers through Harry’s and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and started suggesting movies like he hadn’t just thrown Harry’s mind into a tailspin.

Louis didn’t take his hand away. Harry barely watched the second movie.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I am so sorry for being a trash human and making you wait 5 million years for the conclusion to this little fic! I got so busy with school and dating during a pandemic. Life had been nuts.
> 
> In more exciting news though, I am done my semester and Ontario is officially back in lockdown as of Midnight on the 26th.... so LOTS OF TIME TO WRITE!
> 
> I have 2 half written one shots I'm hoping to post ASAP, so stay tuned! :) I'm so happy to be back at it!!

_Part III: Falling (again)_

Harry was ironing his pants, listening to music and trying to sort through his feelings. Yesterday should have been a write-off. He’d had the worst hangover he’d been subject to in years and then Louis had waltzed into his flat like he’d belonged there. He’d told silly stories and brought pizza and Gatorade. He’d napped in Harry’s bed and held his hand.

Harry had no idea what to expect tonight. The closer it got to when Louis was picking him up, the more Harry started to panic about it. How was Louis going to introduce him to his colleagues? He’d been married to Eleanor, his co-workers and a woman. Surely they weren’t expecting him to show up with his very gay ex-boyfriend?

And not knowing Louis’ intentions? That was the worst part of all.

He thought back to his conversation with Niall. He’d told him to be honest with Louis about what he wanted, but Harry couldn’t do that. He couldn’t risk throwing away whatever it was that Louis was willing to give for the hope that Louis might want it all. There was no way that Harry was willing to risk it.

Harry missed the days when everything was care-free. When they didn’t have careers and complexities surrounding everything. As Niall had pointed out on their conversation earlier, Louis was now a packaged deal. It wasn’t just about them and what they wanted. It wasn’t just about what Harry wanted, because much to his dismay, Louis’ life had carried on without him. It had carried him to places that Harry had hoped they might go together…but he got it. He got that he’d fucked up and he deserved to miss out on those things.

But still. The feel of Louis gripping onto his hand during the movie the previous night? It was hope. Harry might not have had a clue where things were going, but he could hope. He could hope that Louis would steer them into the direction that Harry hoped for.

But he was the bad guy, so he didn’t get to ask.

Harry had just finished buttoning his dress shirt when he heard the buzzer. It was amazing how after walking him home piss-loaded drunk one time and then showing up to watch movies during a hangover one time, the idea of having Louis in his space wasn’t awkward or stressful at all. It made some weird kind of sense.

He buzzed him into the building and then cracked the front door open. Harry went back to his closet and searched for a navy tie. Louis had said his suit was navy and for some reason Harry obsessively wanted to make sure that they looked good together. If Louis was like…going out of his way to bring a gay ex-lover to his work function, he could at least look nice. Was Eleanor going to be there? Louis said it was a colleague’s wedding…Eleanor was also a colleague. _Fuck._ Harry hadn’t considered that.

Harry heard Louis enter then. He backed out of his wardrobe, two ties in hand. His eyes fell on Louis, “does Eleanor know about me?”

Louis fixed him with a look, part judgement, part humour, “like…does she know about you as a person or does she know I dated men?”

“I—both I guess.”

“Then yes,” said Louis rather nonchalantly, “you weren’t the first guy I slept with, if you recall. It’s not like I’ve ever hidden it.”

“Not the first…but the best,” Harry was surprised at himself for making a joke like that.

“Yeah,” agreed Louis before delivering his punchline, “not the first.”

Harry huffed.

“Anyway, she’s not going to be there tonight if that’s why you’re asking.”

Well, that was a relief.

Harry took a moment, then, to evaluate Louis. His face was (regrettably) clean shaven again. His hair was styled and his outfit was…well it was something. Sure, Louis was always handsome. Harry hadn’t been as attracted to anyone in a long time as much as he’d been attracted to Louis is his tracksuit the previous night—but this was different. He was wearing a navy suit and good shoes and had those fucking aviators on again. It was something else. He looked so fucking good Harry actually didn’t know what to do with himself. So he looked down at the ties in his hand.

Harry’s own suit was a dark grey, picked specifically because Louis said he was wearing a navy one. Harry could see now that he hadn’t needed to put so much thought into what he was wearing because he’d just be the guy standing next to Louis. He could have worn a trash bag because people weren’t going to look at him at all, not with Louis looking the way he did. And it wasn’t even just how he looked.

Louis was leaned against the counter in Harry’s kitchen, quietly watching Harry panic to finish getting ready. He was so clam, so poised and so _confident_ that Harry didn’t want to leave his flat at all, if he was being perfectly honest. He wanted to hit rewind and for it to be 14 years ago so that he was allowed to fucking touch him, because, god, the things he’d do if he could just fucking touch Louis.

“So, Styles,” Louis said, pulling off his sunglasses, “on a scale of one to Thursday night, how drunk are you getting?”

Harry walked closer to Louis, holding up the two tie contenders to compare them to Louis’ suit, “negative six,” he said without missing a beat. He tossed the tie that was too blue onto his bed.

Louis ginned, snatching the tie from Harry’s hands, “easy for you to say that now,” and Harry was going to dissolve through the floorboards because Louis was now wrapping the tie around his neck, “you haven’t had to endure a single story about lab rats yet.”

Harry might have responded if he wasn’t suddenly assaulted with the smell of Louis’ cologne and the feel of his breath on his neck. Louis began to tie Harry’s tie wordlessly, but the gesture was so intimate that Harry’s mind started to race in a million directions. ‘Plus one’, that was the terminology that Louis had used when he’d asked Harry to attend the wedding with him. He hadn’t used the word date. But last night they’d held hands through an entire movie and Louis when Louis had slipped out later that night, he’d fixed the blankets around Harry and adjusted his hair admitting he was ‘excited for tomorrow’.

And now it was tomorrow and he was tying Harry’s tie for him while they got ready to attend a wedding together? Harry didn’t know what to read as a sign. Maybe Niall was right. Maybe he had to ask…but the fear of sounding like an idiot, or Louis rejecting him all over again? It was overwhelming.

“Plus,” said Louis as he pulled the knot tighter, “we got them some overpriced stand mixer. You deserve to take advantage of the open bar.”

Harry was afraid to speak because Louis was so close, but he tried anyway, “we?”

Louis finished tightening the tie. His hand rested on Harry’s chest as he finished smoothing the tie. Louis shrugged as he took a step back, “I put your name on the card.”

Yeah, there was no bloody way for Harry to know what universe he was in.

“I like your cologne,” Louis said as he returned to his leaning position against the counter.

Harry felt his face flush as he fumbled to get his jacket on, “ready?” He asked, instead of acknowledging the compliment.

Louis nodded and they were off.

…

They hadn’t been invited to the ceremony, so they arrived just in time for the beginning of the cocktail hour. Louis blazed a path straight to the bar when they entered the room, claiming that he needed a drink in hand to be able to deal with his superiors and their boring stories. Harry’s eyes wandered around the mansion. It was covered in fairy lights and lace and looked tastefully elegant. There were literally hundreds of people milling around and Harry eyed the crowd for the bride, because everyone knew seeing the dress was the best part. He felt a glass being pressed into his hand. He looked down there there was a glass of scotch and Louis with a grin on his face and a beer in his hand. Just every little thing had to be perfect about Louis, didn’t it?

“Louis!” A voice called out from a few metres away.

Louis chuckled, elbowing Harry and directing his attention to a balding man making a beeline for them. “That is Charles, not Charlie and definitely not Chuck. He’s the chair of the sociology department and I’m pretty sure he’s a few months shy of 100. He fucking loves me,” Louis whispered quickly before the man appeared in front of him.

“Beautiful day for a wedding,” Charles said, reaching out to capture one of Louis’ hands between both of his. He held them for a moment as he paused to take Louis in. Louis wasn’t kidding, though. Surely this man could have retired decades ago. His face was wrinkled, and his eyes milky looking behind his thick rimmed glasses, “glad to see you out, Louis. How have you been keeping? Teaching any classes over the summer?”

Harry didn’t miss the fact that Charles hadn’t yet released Louis’ hand. Harry chuckled to himself as he continued to watch the exchange.

“No classes this summer, just working on a research paper. What about yourself?”

“Just helping a few pupils with their honours thesis's. Between you and me, I think that school might want me to retire. Jokes on them, though. I’ve just hired a new TA. I’ve still got a few more rounds left in me.”

“Excellent news,” said Louis, politely freeing his hand from Charles’. He moved closer to Harry, placing a hand on his lower back and nearly making Harry’s heart stop, “Charles, this is Harry. Harry, I’d like you to meet Charles. I minored in sociology during my bachelor and I was his favourite student, and I’m sure now I’m his favourite colleague,” it was incredible to watch Louis schmooze like it was his job.

“Good to meet you Harry,” said Charles, giving Harry a far less intimate handshake, “and what do you do?”

“He won’t brag for himself, so I’ll brag for him,” said Louis, hand still resting on Harry’s back, “Harry curates a gallery downtown. He’s a brilliant painter, too.”

Charles nodded, “what school did you attend?”

“I did my bachelor at Middlesex,” Harry said with a smile.

“Good choice,” said Charles, clapping Harry on the back, “I should head back to my wife,” he announced and took his leave.

Harry leaned in closer to Louis, whose hand still hadn’t left its place on Harry’s back, “his wife?”

Louis snorted a laugh, “I told you he loves me.”

“Modest as always, Lou. Class.”

Louis chuckled, hearing his name being called again, “now, rinse and repeat that conversation a hundred more times. Told you you’d want a drink.”

Louis guided Harry over to the next person with the same gentile hand on his back.

…

Louis really hadn’t been kidding when he’d said they were about to have the same conversation a hundred more times. Charles being the first worked in his favour, because Harry remembered approximately zero more names. It was a lot of talking about his education. It was like no one in the room had less than a Master’s degree, which he supposed made sense, given the context. He kind of felt like a braggart, chatting up his degrees, but Louis assured him that being an artist at least made him semi-memorable amongst a bunch of staunch academics.

Eventually they found their table. Louis pulled out Harry’s chair for him and then began to introduce him to the people sitting around their table.

“This is Margo,” he said of the young woman on his left, “her office is next to mine and we share a lot of students. We’ve written a few papers together, too. Margo, this is Harry.”

A knowing smile spread across her face as she maintained eye contact with Louis, “I’m sorry, _this_ is Harry?” She stuck her hand out and shook Harry’s enthusiastically, “I’ve heard so much about you, Harry. Glad you came. It’s nice to put a face to a name.”

Harry just nodded, floored by her statement.

Louis rolled his eyes, like he was only moderately put off with her statement. He leaned in to whisper into Harry’s ear, “I don’t talk about you _that_ much.”

The way he emphasized ‘that’ made Harry’s skin tingle. Even if he wasn’t talking about him to his work friends _that_ much, he was still talking to them some amount. That had to count for something.

A server came by and replaced his and Louis’ drinks and Louis leaned over again, “that’s your third. I told you these people would drive you to drink.”

Harry felt Louis’ hand then, resting just there on his thigh. Harry picked up his glass, taking a deep gulp because what else was there to do? Louis was sat there at a wedding with his hand on Harry’s thigh and Harry _still_ didn’t know what that meant or how to respond.

Dinner was a long affair with more courses than Harry could properly remember. Margo was hilarious and had the whole table laughing most of the night. Normally, Louis was the star of the show in situations like this. Usually all eyes were on him as he joked and entertained in that distinctly Louis way, but tonight was different. He was quiet and only attentive to Harry. There were eyes on them whenever Louis leaned in to whisper some anecdote into Harry’s ear. There were questions in everyone’s eyes and Harry fucking wished someone would dare to ask something so that he could know the answer too.

By the time Harry had downed his fourth scotch, it was half nine. They’d just watched the bride and groom have their first dance. Louis’ hand had returned to Harry’s thigh as the table gushed about the bride’s dress and the dessert trio they’d been served. Still, Louis was quiet. Harry didn’t know what to do with that information. Whatever kind of conversation Louis seemed to be capable of was just private whispers to Harry and small blips of polite banter with his co-workers. He wasn’t invested in the conversation at the table, though, try as everyone might to pull him in. He was most interested in providing Harry with a running commentary about every person he spotted doing anything even moderately funny. Not that Harry minded, but the whole thing was just so hard to read.

“Tomlinson,” said a voice from behind them.

Louis turned to look behind him and Harry felt Louis’ hand slide off of his leg as Louis got out of his seat. The bride and groom were behind them. Louis motioned for Harry to get up as well. Louis hugged them both and congratulated them. Then he stepped back to Harry, putting his hand in the now familiar spot on his back.

“Simon, Molly, this is Harry,” he said.

Harry shook Simon, the groom’s hand and then hugged the bride, telling her how beautiful she was.

“Glad you could make it, Harry. Louis never brings a proper date to these things,” Simon said, “he always cops out and comes with his sister or Eleanor and her husband.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush at Simon’s words. Maybe Simon didn’t know Louis all that well, to know that Harry was…something else. Probably not the kind of date he was imagining.

Instead of denying Simon’s words, Louis pulled Harry a bit closer. His hand migrated to Harry’s hip where he held him closer. Harry was trying to engage in conversation with the people who had paid for his evening, but his mind was everywhere else. He kind of heard Louis telling them about his master of fine arts degree and his work at the gallery, but his blood was pumping so loudly in his ears that that the only thing he could focus on was Louis’ arm.

Eventually someone else called the couple away and they floated onto the next conversation. Louis didn’t remove his hand from its place on Harry’s hip, until he leaned in to whisper to Harry again.

“Grab us some fresh drinks? I’m going to the loo and I’ll meet you back at the table?”

Harry nodded, giving Louis a tense smile.

Louis’ eyes glittered as he reached out to straighten Harry’s tie, “you look so nice Harry.”

Harry’s knees felt week as Louis walked away. It took him a second to remember he was standing in the middle of a room full of people. He turned for a second to watch Louis walk away. Everything in the room was spinning, and yeah, he was definitely buzzed, but it was more than that. Harry didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on with Louis.

Louis had eventually returned to the table and settled in next to Harry. They sipped their drinks and Louis kept a running commentary on Charles and his wife. It was funny. Louis was always funny, was there was something more there. Things felt intimate because Louis seemed bound and determined not to allow another soul to join their conversation. Harry didn’t know what to make of it. Louis finished the last sip of his beer and placed it back on the table just as _Thinking Out Loud_ started to play. Couples started to stand up and pour onto the floor.

“Dance with me?” Louis’ lips were practically at Harry’s ear. He felt the words send a shiver down his spine.

Since they’d started hanging out, most of the things Louis said weren’t a question. He was always certain in his requests and certain that Harry would follow his lead. Strangely, though, this was a question. Louis’ confidence had faltered, but _why?_

Harry slid his hand into Louis’, nodding without saying a word.

And then he was on the dance floor, one arm draped around Louis’ neck and the other held onto Louis’ soft hand. They were out there in the open, for all of Louis’ colleagues to see. Louis lead, he always had. Harry simply looked into Louis’ eyes and searched for any kind of clue. They swayed slowly back and forth to the song. Harry knew the words, everyone in the world knew the words. The dance floor was filled with couples and they were lost in a sea of people humming and shuffling along to the words.

No one was really paying attention to them. They were just two people in a crowd of people and no one else in that room knew just how big this was. No one else knew how many years it had taken Harry to get back into Louis’ arms. No one else knew just how much this meant to Harry. No one else…except maybe Louis.

Without thinking about his actions, Harry found himself resting his head in that perfect spot, nuzzled just below Louis’ neck, right above his pulse. He wasn’t imaging it when he felt Louis holding him tighter. He breathed deep and he was overwhelmed with the feeling. It was like when he’d been a kid and he’d gone off to summer camp. It was like that feeling of being away for too long. It was like coming home. The comfort of Louis’ arms, of his heart beat, the smell of him… Harry couldn’t really put into words how much he’d missed this place.

Fourteen years after he’d broken them and he was standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor at a beautiful wedding with Louis. It wasn’t what he’d imagined for their life all those years ago.

Louis was singing the words quietly, his lips in Harry’s hair, “place your head on my beating heart.”

Harry couldn’t stop it. He hadn’t even felt it coming. A tear fell from his eyes. It was just…he was so fucking in love with this man. He’d had too many drinks and they were dancing to the cheesiest song on the planet and Louis was holding him. Properly holding him and it was too much for Harry to process. He wanted so much and he didn’t know how he was ever going to be okay with whatever it was they were doing. He didn’t want to be Louis’ friend. He didn’t want to be anything less than everything and he didn’t know if he could lose him again. He couldn’t tell Louis what was flooding his mind because there was no way he could go back to whatever his life had been. Louis had brought the colour back and he didn’t want to lose it again.

Perceptive as he always was, Louis’ was whispering in Harry’s ear, “why are you crying, love?”

Harry gripped Louis tighter, and in return, Louis pulled him closer. Harry didn’t dare lift his head from the safe place he’d found, “of all the times I imagined dancing with you at a wedding, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Harry wondered then, what Louis’ wedding had been like. Had he held Eleanor like this? Had 400 people shown up to watch them dance? Harry hated every single year that had passed without Louis. He hated every last one because all it had done was steal his youth, steal away his chance to do this with Louis for real. Now Louis had already been married, Harry had already missed the boat and he’d never get to make that life with him.

“Me neither,” said Louis, his voice was calm and reassuring. Harry was pretty certain he could feel Louis’ lips in his hair.

The song was drawing to a close and Harry gripped Louis tighter. He wasn’t ready for this to end just yet. He wasn’t ready to let Louis go, in any capacity. He could feel the tears that had fallen from his eyes soaking into Louis’ shirt. This night... Harry both appreciated it and despised it. It was doing a lot to him. It was making him question his sanity and his ability to be okay with whatever offer Louis was making him. How could he let Louis go? How could he walk the 4 flights up to his own flat and crawl into his bed alone and just be okay? How could he just walk back into his old life and be okay with it? Louis had injected colour back into his lacklustre existence.

Harry heard the words _we found love right where we are_ and just like that, the song was over. Louis didn’t let him go. Harry heard the start of the next song, but Louis held him close. His voice was soft as he whispered into Harry’s hair.

“Let’s get some fresh air.”

They let each other go, then. Louis pointed toward the exit, grabbing a hold of Harry’s hand to lead him there. The night was warm as the air brushed Harry’s face. It was muggy and thick with the promise of rain, but it served to clear Harry’s mind. The garden was beautiful and lit by twinkling lights all around them. There was a small gathering of people across the lawn smoking, but aside from that, they were alone. It was quiet, save for the speaker playing a soft song above their heads.

The words to the song struck Harry where it hurt.

_Tell me you want it_

_A thousand miles away from the day that we started_

_But I'm standing here with you just tryna be honest_

_If honesty means telling you the truth_

_Well, I'm still in love with you_

And then, all over again, Louis pulled him close, “‘m not done with you yet, Styles.”

Harry wrapped his arms back around Louis and counted his fucking blessings that the moment hadn’t passed. They weren’t really dancing this time. They were just holding each other, rocking slightly back and forth.

Harry felt like it was real. He felt like Louis wanted this. This moment in time that had been 14 long, gruelling years in the making.

The song was playing quietly, but every single word struck Harry. _If honesty means telling you the truth, I’m still in love with you._

Harry should come clean. Louis should know. All these years he’d been away, nothing had changed. Harry lived with the guilt and the weight of his decisions and the pain, it crushed him. It had changed him and preserved him all at once. He wasn’t the same person he had been, but his feelings were.

“Harry,” Louis’ whispered. He could feel Louis’ voice from his place against his chest. He didn’t know what he’d expected Louis to say, but the words struck him, “I want to try again.”

Harry sobbed. Tears didn’t come this time, but he crushed himself closer to Louis. Had he heard what he thought he’d heard? They’d abandoned all pretence of dancing, standing still wrapped up in each other.

Louis pulled back, meeting Harry’s eyes. There was so much happening in Louis’ irises that Harry couldn’t even begin to try to sort through it. Louis ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, stopping to cup his chin.

“I mean, I know that’s a lot to ask,” Louis’ voice was barely above a whisper, “I get it if you’re not interested. It’s a lot to take on, with Harper and all. But I couldn’t just…look at you all night and not say it. You look so good, Harry. Being with you these last few days…it’s all I think about. I’m sorry I did the big things without you, more than you can imagine. I want you so fucking bad, Harry.”

There were not words in the English language that could have explained what Harry needed to say. His heart tripped over itself, working overtime to try to accommodate the intensity of the feelings currently assaulting Harry’s senses.

Without a word, Harry’s lips crashed into Louis’. Fuck. It _was_ coming home. He’d been gone so long, and Louis was so much better than his memory could have ever captured. He kissed Harry back, his hand still cupping Harry’s jaw. Louis’ other hand gripped tightly to Harry’s hip, pressing his body closer. There was no way that Harry could have gotten close enough. He licked into Louis’ mouth, their tongues swirling against each other. Harry’s hand stroked Louis’ face, fingers curling into his hair.

Harry had died. He must have died and gone to heaven because there was just no way that he could have this after all the bad he’d done.

Louis pulled back, then, looking into Harry’s eyes. Louis’ blue irises were sparkling in a way that astounded Harry, “are you sure?”

Harry gawked at him, wasn’t it obvious? There was only one thing in the world that Harry was sure of and that was how much he needed Louis.

“You’re telling me you want to try again and you think _I_ might say no?” Harry hoped his voice sounded as astounded as he was, “I’ve had 14 years to think it over, so yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure.”

A smiled spread across Louis’ face and just…how? How did Harry get so lucky? There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind as he met Louis’ eyes. His emotions were clear and Harry was just astounded that they were directed at him. How was it even possible for someone like Louis to feel that way about someone like Harry?

Louis kissed him again, less urgency behind the action. His hands held Harry’s face in place as his kissed him gently. Eventually, Louis hands wrapped around Harry, pressing their body’s together with urgency. Louis’ mouth was soft as he kissed from Harry’s mouth, across his cheeks and behind his ear. Harry’s hands were greedy. He wanted skin. He tugged on Louis’ hair as Louis kissed his neck. This whole thing was surreal. Louis was there, pressed against him, his mouth everywhere and Harry needed more.

Louis pulled back, whispering into Harry’s ear, “say you’ll spend the night at my place?”

Harry’s eyes met Louis’ and he felt his knees turn to Jello. He was grateful for Louis’ arms holding him upright. His face felt hot as Louis looked at him.

That cheeky and impossibly sexy grin that made Harry crazy appeared on Louis’ face. What was it about Louis teasing him that made Harry so crazy? “Harry Edward Styles, are you blushing at the thought of coming home with me? Don’t worry, I’m not asking anything of you that I don’t already know you’re perfectly capable of doing,” the statement came with a wink.

Harry’s cheeks continued to flame and he smooshed his face into Louis’ neck, giggling atjust how unfathomable this entire night was. He kissed Louis’ neck softly, inhaling the heady scent that made him feel dizzy. He felt Louis’ arms tighten around him and he whispered into Louis’ collarbone, “of course I’ll go home with you.”

. . .

Louis had suggested giving Harry a tour of the house while they were waiting for their Uber and Harry had agreed. But sometime during said Uber ride, Harry had changed his mind. He’d forgotten all about the promised house tour and found his body crashing desperately against Louis’ the second he’d shut the door behind him. Louis didn’t remind Harry about the tour, either. Instead he’d made quick work of untying the tie he’d tied earlier and had started unbuttoning Harry’s shirt. Harry got lost in the whole process and the feel of Louis’ mouth in just about every place he wanted it (save for one very important place) and he’d become aware of the fact that they must have climbed the stairs at some point because they were in a bedroom, now.

Louis was kissing him and telling him how good he looked and holy fuck. This was happening. After fucking up his life 14 years ago, somehow, by some miracle he was about to be with Louis all over again. Maybe he should have been scared or nervous, but that wasn’t happening. It had been a long time since Harry had felt so comfortable with somebody, in fact maybe he never had. Maybe he’d never been so himself with anyone other than Louis. And Louis, for his part? He seemed certain. Harry didn’t think this was some act of desperation. Louis wanted this, wanted him. Though it was unfathomable, it was real.

And Harry was absolutely _not_ going to fuck it up this time.

He pulled back from the kiss and sighed into Louis’ chest, nipping at his collarbone. Louis was so perfect. His skin radiated a natural sort of warmth that Harry was drawn to like a moth to a flame. The years had changed some things, like the fact that nearly every body part Harry uncovered was now covered with ink. It was like the blueprint to the stuff Harry had missed. He still remembered the summer night they’d spent at some grungy tattoo shop. Louis’ first tattoo had been a rope around his wrist. He’d gotten it the same day Harry had gotten his anchor.

Every inch of Louis’ skin was perfect and Harry just wanted to touch. He fumbled with Louis’ pants, pulling them down less than gracefully, not willing to break their kiss. Louis tasted like he’d always tasted and Harry had no idea just how much he’d missed it.

“God, I want to feel you,” Harry mumbled between increasingly sloppy kisses.

“That makes two of us,” Louis said, finally finishing the job and stepping out of his trousers.

Harry made some kind of grumbling sound he hadn’t realized he was capable of and crashed to his knees. He needed to taste Louis, to make him feel good and to show him just how much he’d missed him. How on earth had he spent 14 years of his life without this man? God, he looked good.

...

Harry rolled over in the bed, finally taking in his surroundings. He was in Louis’ space. Everywhere he turned was Louis. The sheets smelled of him, the pillow cases musky with his cologne. The bedside table next to Harry had nothing but a lamp. Louis’ side was full of books and pens and a watch. Evidence that only one side of the bed was occupied regularly. The bed was firm, much more practical than Harry’s, which was what he would have expected.

If it weren’t for the exhaustion Harry was feeling and the fact that he was covered in come, maybe he would have done a bit more snooping, but as it were, he fluffed the pillow and turned onto his side, pulling the blankets over himself. He needed to find the will to get up and clean himself off, but it was late and he was still exhausted from the previous day’s hangover. He wanted to succumb to sleep. He listened for Louis, but where ever the washroom was, it was too far away for Harry to hear. He flirted with disaster and closed his eyes. Just as he felt sleep tugging at him, he felt a pair of lips on his forehead.

Harry opened his eyes, and it was like a fantasy that he’d probably had 10,000 times in the past 14 years. Except this time, it was real. This time he got to keep it.

Louis was standing in just a pair of Calvin Klein’s, with a glass of water in hand. His hair was a disaster in all the best ways and his skin carried an even more enticing glow. He looked so... happy, so satisfied.

He brushed the back of his hand over Harry’s cheek, “you look so good,” he whispered, leaning in again to kiss Harry’s cheek.

Louis handed Harry a damp facecloth then, grin on his face, “tired?” he asked with a wink.

Harry made quick work of cleaning himself off, grateful that Louis was Louis and that he still took the time to take care of him. Louis climbed into his side of the bed.

Louis plucked the washcloth from Harry’s hand and tossed it across the room onto the floor, grinning. He leaned in and kissed Harry then, deep and slow. When he pulled back, he pointed to the end table beside Harry. There were four pills sitting next to a glass. Harry recognized 2 of them as being paracetamol, but gave Louis a questioning glance about the other two.

“‘S B12,” he answered, gliding his hand slowly across Harry’s chest as he watched him take the pills, “some of my work mates are convinced it prevents hangovers and given the state you were in yesterday, I figure preventative measures can’t hurt. Hangovers are clearly a problem for you.”

Harry scoffed, despite having swallowed all of the pills, “red wine is a problem for me,” he amended.

Harry drank the rest of the water, trying to wake himself up a bit. If he was about to share post-coitus pillow talk with Louis, he wanted to be alert for it.

“Get some sleep, love,” Louis said, leaning in for another long kiss.

Their tongues swirled lazily against each other. Harry felt like his head was spinning. He felt like he was in another world. He couldn’t believe he was laying in bed next to Louis. Even the previous day when he’d been laying in a bed next to Louis, he hadn’t let himself hope for this. This was different. This was it. This was the first night of a million more nights he wanted to spend wrapped up in Louis.

When their kiss broke, Harry whispered “hard to want to fall asleep when you keep kissing me like that.”

“I’m an absolute menace,” Louis mumbled against Harry’s lips. He kissed him softly, pulling back with a grin on his face, “goodnight Harry.”

Harry could feel his cheeks straining from how much smiling he’d been doing the last few days. He rolled over onto his stomach, adjusting his pillow and closing his eyes. Just as he expected, he felt Louis wrap himself around him, one cheeky hand gripping onto Harry’s naked bum. He chuckled and felt Louis’ breath against his shoulder.

“I could get used to this,” Harry mumbled into his pillow.

Louis gave his butt cheek a squeeze and kissed his shoulder, “mm,” he agreed, voice sleepy.

Harry was happy. He couldn’t remember another moment that he’d felt like this. This was beyond his wildest dreams. Falling asleep next to Louis was better than anything he’d imagined for himself in a long time.

He remembered the conversation he and Louis had had at Niall’s wedding when Louis had said that time moved on and things changed and priorities changed. It was true in some ways, but something that time had definitely not touched was the way they slotted together. In every sense of the word. They laughed like it had been minutes since they’d last seen each other, not years. Louis remembered every little thing about Harry and doted on him in the same ways he always had. Things were very much different, but the core of the connection between them? It was something that time hadn’t touched. It wasn’t tarnished or broken in any way. They were in perfect harmony like no time had passed.

Harry’s eyes were heavy as he closed them, surrounded by so much Louis. Normally, sleep didn’t come easily to Harry. He had too much to think about, too much to feel. He woke up like clock work in the middle of the night and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night (sober). Instinctually, he knew that tonight was going to be different. He felt at peace with everything in his life. He was warm and safe and Louis was there.

“Harry,” Louis’ voice was soft, almost like he didn’t expect Harry to answer.

“Lou.”

“I just…” there was a tone that Harry wasn’t quite used to in Louis’ voice. He sounded uncertain, “if you change your mind about us, can you please tell me before you meet Harper? I just don’t want her to get hurt.”

“Hey,” said Harry, hating the uncertainty in Louis’ voice. He rolled over, turning to face Louis.He nudged his nose against Louis’, “you don’t get to be the one who second guesses this,” he smiled at Louis, placing his hand on Louis’ cheek, “I’m supposed to be the one who wonders if you’ll change your mind.”

Louis’ smile was uneasy, “yeah, but you’re not the one who’s a packaged deal. As good as things might feel between us, it doesn’t change that you might not be ready for that extra responsibility.”

“Can I be honest?” Harry asked, voice low.

Louis’ lips were against his, an answer slipped between kisses, “of course.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to wake up and remember why you left the first time and leave again.”

“Well, first of all, this is my house so it would be super awkward if I left,” finally Louis’ voice felt light again, “and second, why do you think I waited so long to say something? I didn’t want to mess it up. I wanted to be sure this is what I wanted, that we could still work. No one has ever made me laugh as hard as you do and that has to count for something Harry, because you really aren’t that funny. This has been the best week I’ve had in years, and I think that’s all that needs to be said. I didn’t want to ask you for more until I was sure I had some idea of what your answer would be, especially when you factor in Harper. It’s just... I didn’t know if you would say yes because it’s not like you’re signing up for just me. It’s a packaged deal. And every time I brought her up you just... kind of got distant and I wasn’t sure how to take that. I mean, there’s not much I can do. She’s my kid.”

Harry inhaled deeply, surrounded by the feel and smell of Louis, “Lou, I got distant because…I missed it. The one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world was to be a parent with you. I always wanted that. I mean, I have this great career, two degrees and I didn’t even care if I got either of those things. I just…” Harry closed his eyes, nuzzling into Louis’ neck, “it hurt because I don’t even know her. You’re a dad and I don’t know that side of you. It hurt more than I expected, but that doesn’t mean I’m not ready. It means I was ready a really long time ago and I’m just sad I missed so much.”

Louis held him closer, kissing Harry’s temple, “yeah, you missed some stuff, but there’s a lot you haven’t missed,” he kissed Harry’s temple again, “and a lot that I wouldn’t mind having help with. 4 sisters and a daughter, and would you believe I still can’t braid worth shit? I’m also no help when it comes to arts and crafts.”

Harry nuzzled deeper into Louis’ neck, “I actually just learned how to do a 5 strand braid, Gem let me practice on her.”

He felt Louis chuckle, “our saviour.”

. . .

The second time Harry woke up the following morning, he was on his stomach, stretched across his half of an otherwise empty bed. He heard Louis rustling around in the wardrobe across the room. (The first time he’d woken up had been around 5:30, which was way too early to get out of bed, but he and Louis and managed to find things to do that didn’t involve leaving the bed). Harry pulled up the sheet to cover his naked body, pretending like modesty had any place in Louis’ bedroom. He turned over and looked in the direction of Louis’ closet.

“Who said you could leave me?” Harry said, rolling onto his side for a better view of Louis.

Louis poked his head out, a smile set on his face, “I haven’t even left the room yet.”

“But you left the bed. I’m cold. That’s punishable by law.”

Louis laughed before tossing a pair of joggers onto the bed, followed by a white t-shirt, “it’s June, Harry.”

“So? I expected more of you. Like forehead kisses and maybe a back rub.”

“It’s half 10 Styles,” Louis said, walking toward the bed. He was wearing black underwear and an obscure band t-shirt and looking like he’d stepped directly out of a teenaged fantasy Harry had had more than once, “I haven’t slept in this late in years. Plus I already gave you way more than a back rub.”

He was standing at the side of the bed now. He leaned in to place a kiss in the centre of Harry’s forehead.

“I haven’t slept this late since…Friday,” Harry joked, grabbing Louis’ wrist and tugging him close enough to give him a proper kiss.

“You menace,” Louis said when the kiss broke. The grin on his face was huge and it was for Harry. It was still surreal, “why don’t you shower and I’ll make coffee. Aren’t you hungry?”

Harry huffed, “starving,” he admitted.

“Get up then, you giant pain in the ass. I can’t believe you still sleep in like a teenager.”

Rather than getting dressed, Harry opted to tie a towel around his waist while he finally got the promised house tour on the way to the bathroom. The upstairs had three bedrooms, Louis’ was the largest. The door closest to it was painted teal and had a pink H painted on it. Harry could do the math, it was obviously Harper’s room. Louis said he’d let Harper give him her own tour when she felt like it. She was only five, yet Louis was already affording her privacy—a truly great father in every way that Harry could imagine. The next door was Louis’ home office. It had floor to ceiling bookshelves, a large desk by the window and various other office supplies scattered about. Most adorably, though, there was a smaller desk in the corner with all kinds of art supplies scattered across it. Of course. It was Louis’ and Harper’s office. Harry was a big enough man to admit that he swooned. No one had the right to make being a good parent such a turn on, but there was Louis, doing just that.

The final door was a large washroom. There was a soaker tub and a large stand-alone shower, plenty large enough to accommodate more than just Harry. Louis put the clothes he’d pulled out to lend to Harry on the counter.

“Everything you need is in the shower,” he said, turning to leave, “meet me downstairs when you’re done.”

“Or,” said Harry, grabbing Louis’ wrist and pulling him closer, “you can shower with me and I can help you make breakfast after that.”

Harry pulled him in for a kiss which Louis returned without hesitation. Immediately he felt Louis’ tug off the towel around Harry’s waist. He grinned into the kiss, nipping lightly at Harry’s lip.

“If my answer to that is ever a ‘no’, admit me to the hospital immediately because there will be something very fucking wrong with me.”

Harry gasped as he felt Louis push him up agains the wall. Without breaking their kiss, Louis reached out and turned on the shower. Harry tugged at Louis’ clothes, wasting no time getting him undressed.

“Now,” Louis said, pulling Harry under the stream of water, “let’s get you dirty so I can help you get clean.”

…

It was just past three in the afternoon and Harry was lounging on the couch with his legs draped across Louis. Louis was rubbing his calves and working out the tension there. Harry hadn’t felt this peaceful in a long time. Their day had mostly been filled with chats about things they’d missed in each other’s lives and chats about things their sisters had been up to over the past 14 years. They’d snogged through the majority of a movie, nothing further coming of it, aside from the act of remembering what each other felt like. Harry had fallen asleep at some point and Louis had slipped out to buy pastries for lunch. The day had been easy and Harry’s phone sat still mostly dead on the empty bedside table in Louis’ room. He’d forgotten to even miss it, because the whole world felt like it didn’t compare to whatever they’d gotten up to.

Harry hadn’t really been paying much attention to the telly, where repeats of the Great British Bake Off was playing. He was content at just the feel of Louis’ hands and the soft murmur of his voice. He was relaxed in a way he couldn’t have imagined as few as 24 hours ago. This was it. This was everything he could have asked for and more. He’d made it back into Louis’ embrace against every odd. It didn’t made any sense for Louis to forgive him, yet here they were. Harry’s chest felt warm.

“Hey,” Louis said, abruptly removing his hands from Harry’s legs. He bent Harry’s knees and got up quickly, “I forgot I wanted to show you something.”

Louis disappeared upstairs without another word. Harry sat up on the couch, a smile on his face as he waited for Louis’ return. He didn’t have to wait long before he saw Louis come back around the corner with what looked like photographs in his hand. He grinned and tossed them onto Harry’s lap before sitting back down and pulling Harry against him.

The photo on top was taken at Gemma’s uni graduation. It had been the first big event that Harry had brought Louis along to. Harry’s mum had taken a picture of the two of them in front of a big tree. They both wore huge grins, their youth still perfectly in tact. Harry knew that somewhere in his mum’s house, the mate of this photo was probably hidden, but he’d never gone looking for it. It stung him in a strange way. He wanted to be able to turn back in time and slap some sense into the mess of curls atop his 18 year old head. He wanted to tell himself to hold on tight and not to fuck things up. He hated the years that had stretched between that photo and this moment.

He flipped to the next picture. This once was Gemma in her cap and gown under the same tree with Louis on one side and Harry on the other. Harry smiled this time because he’d somehow forgotten how well Louis and Gemma’s sarcasm had matched. They’d been close in all the best ways. Louis had once fit so well into his family. He missed that.

The next photograph was a half blurry image Harry had taken with his arm stretched as far out as possible. Harry’s lips were pressed to Louis’ cheek as they stood at the summit of some hill they’d hiked up one summer. Harry’s chest felt warm remembering the frame that this photo had sat on in their flat, right above the kitchen sink. He flipped to the next one and laughed out loud at the picture. There were a half dozen of their friends on the infamous camping trip, posing in front of their tents. Louis was in one corner of the photo, Harry on the other. Harry was laughing because, first of all Louis’ hair was ridiculous, but most of all it was funny because he was the only one not looking at the camera. He was staring across the sea of friends at Harry. His grin was huge.

“You’re not even looking at the camera,” Harry chuckled, looking over at Louis.

“Nah,” he said, pointing to a 19 year old Harry, “there was a much better view.”

Harry shot a look over at Louis, a longing in his chest. He elbowed him, cracking a smile, “that might be the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Come on, Styles,” he said, pulling Harry close enough to kiss his temple, “don’t even pretend you’d have me any other way.”

Harry felt his chest clench in the best way. He brushed his nose agains the side of Louis’ face, inhaling the comfort of somehow being this moment.

He flipped to the next photo Niall had taken from across the fire on the same camping trip. Beyond the flames, were Harry and Louis. Harry was sitting on the ground in front of Louis’ chair. Louis’ legs were on either side of him and he had his head tilted toward Louis, laughing at something (he’d always been laughing at something). Louis’ hands were buried in Harry’s curls and Harry’s heart longed for that moment. Things had been so easy when they had been so young. He took the photo out of the stack and placed it on the coffee table.

“I’m stealing this,” he announced.

Louis just laughed, and they looked down at the last photo.

It was a picture of Harry holding Daisy on his shoulders and Louis holding Phoebe on his shoulders. Both of the girls were grinning at the camera, but as usual, he and Louis were just grinning at each other. It was amazing to Harry the way that these photographs couldn’t lie. These were honest moments caught in time and in every single one he could see the joy they’d brought to each other’s lives.

Harry looked at the back of the photo where Louis’ mum had scrawled _Dais and Pheobs-6 yrs._

“They were so little,” Harry commented.

“ _We_ were so little,” said Louis, “so young, so full of life. So in love.”

“Not so young anymore, though, are we?” Asked Harry.

Louis chuckled, taking the photos and placing them on the table. He nuzzled his nose against Harry’s neck, arms wrapping around him. “Still in love though,” he mumbled against Harry’s skin.

A pleasant tingle covered Harry’s entire body. He wanted to confirm what he’d heard, but he was afraid of misunderstanding. In his gut he knew how he felt. The way he and Louis had slotted back together, it was all he needed to know. That love he’d had for Louis as a reckless kid, it was the same, but it had grown up. It still felt the same way he’d remembered, but this time he was much more certain of it. So many years had passed and Harry had learned so many lessons in those years and he was ready to cherish this thing between them like he’d never had the foresight to do the first time around.

“Harry,” Louis whispered against Harry’s neck, “I mean it, yeah? I don’t think I ever stopped loving you, even when I was mad at you,” he chuckled as he spoke. “Maybe it’s a little odd of me to say so soon, but it’s not that I’m in love with you _again_ —Harry, I’m in love with you _still_.”

Harry tilted Louis’ chin up and met his eyes, “me too, Lou. I never stopped loving you.”

Louis grinned, “I knew it,” he murmured before leaning in for a long kiss.

…

Harry had gone upstairs for some other reason, but he’d found himself drawn to the door with the H painted on it. He wasn’t really sure how long he’d been standing there. He’d fallen into his own thoughts, staring into the silent room. There were signs of Harper everywhere and his heart felt big in a way that it never had before. He felt so full inside.

Everything Harry had ever wanted existed under this roof. It was overwhelming in only the best ways. Louis had come back. Louis had tracked him down, felt him out and decided against all odds that he wanted to try again. Now Harry got to do this. He got to prove that Louis wasn’t making a mistake. He got to spend the rest of his life proving Louis had made the right call.

Because, he’d made a mistake once. One that he’d lived and breathed next to for 14 years. He’d forgiven himself, but it had still changed him. Without his mistakes, without the things they’d done without each other, he and Louis wouldn’t be the same people they were today. The past was a heavy cross to bare, but it was theirs. They were a culmination of the ways that they’d learned to live without each other. Harry was grateful in a strange way that he’d done the things that he’d done because he would’t be the same person he was today. Louis wouldn’t be either. The hurt he’d cause them—it had changed them both.

But somehow, they were back here. It might have taken 14 years, but they’d made their way back to the only place that ever made any sense.

Harry must have been staring into Harper’s room for a long time, because Louis had come to find him. He felt Louis’ arms wrap around his waist from behind. A soft kiss was pressed to his neck as Louis rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry leaned back into Louis’ embrace. They were silent for a moment, both staring into the quiet bedroom.

Louis broke the silence first.

“I’d do it again, you know?”

“Do what?” Harry asked, leaning his head against Louis’.

“Get married. Have a baby. Both,” Louis tightened his grip on Harry’s waist, “whatever you wanted.”

Harry felt the world stop and Louis pressed his lips against Harry’s neck again. They were quiet for another long moment, Harry just enjoying the embrace. Louis’ words replayed themselves in his head. It wasn’t too late. Harry could still have those things with Louis. Their time wasn’t up—not by any means. He couldn’t wait to find out what the future held for them.

“Let’s start with a puppy,” Harry’s voice broke the still air, forcing a chuckle out of Louis that Harry felt all the way down his spine.

“Whatever you want,” Louis agreed.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will just say that as much as I love writing fics, I love reading them too. I find that I prefer the endings that leave me with anticipation. I’ve read too many fics with endings that were so long I didn’t bother to finish reading them. With that said, I find my biggest fear as a writer is not knowing when to end something. My intentions at first were to carry this story past the moment of Harry meeting Harper, but the more I wrote the more it felt like just writing for the sake of writing. So I trimmed it up and ended it where I did because I’d rather leave people feeling like they wanted more than overkilling the ending. 
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading <3
> 
> Instagram @feels.like.home01


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